


I Know Places

by Imaginationfever



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: A little Gory, Angst, F/M, Fluff, OC, Romance, Slow Burn, Stiles gets some lovin', Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Vampires, Violence, it's a long one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-02-18 21:31:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 212,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22733512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imaginationfever/pseuds/Imaginationfever
Summary: "Call me the devil's advocate, but to me it was obvious all humans were inherently evil."Juliet is a two hundred year old vampire on a diet, just trying to make it through high school. Again. Her priorities change when she meets Stiles, the one human she just can't seem to hate no matter how hard she tries.Stiles/OC
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 100





	1. Bad Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello to both new and old fans of this story. Welcome to I Know Places, my vampire insert Stiles/OC. It's kind of a mammoth read, so I hope you've got supplies ready for a binge!
> 
> For those of you who might have read this on FF.net, I wanted to assure you that I'm the same author who posted it on there. This version will be a little bit different, in the fact that I've rewritten a lot of the chapters, just to give it an updated shine. The plot has remained the same, but I have added/taken out certain scenes, and I've filled it out with more cohesive and interesting language – plus fixed a few small continuity errors.
> 
> To all of those who maybe haven't read this story in the past, I wanted to give a warning for the coming chapters. There will be an increase in gore, violence and sex as the story goes on. It's rated Explicit for a reason. We start off relatively light, but things begin to go dark the deeper in you go.
> 
> I hope everyone who reads this – whether it's your first time or your tenth – enjoys reading it as much as I did writing it.

_I thought I was the victim, I played it well_

_Sifting through the records, trying to find myself_

_I tried to be salvation, tried to make it change_

_Ooh, but I've come too far to look the other way_

Bad Intentions – Digital Daggers

* * *

I wasn't a good person.

Or maybe I was, at least, when I was human. I suppose it depends on your outlook on whether or not people could be _born_ evil. Call me the devil's advocate, but to me it was obvious that all humans were inherently evil. Being turned into a vampire only enhanced the darkness already inside me.

As a human I didn't have an outlet for my urges. As a vampire I did, and for the longest time I was the very definition of evil. I killed and tortured and manipulated humans like they were my playthings, dolls to be toyed with at will. And the desire to do so wouldn't ever entirely go away, not even now. It was written into my DNA.

But then I met Myra, and suddenly I didn't enjoy it quite as much as I once did.

I'd always kept an eye on my bloodline, made sure they were safe and had enough money to live comfortably. I'd never actually interacted with any of them; until her.

She was standing on the beach when we spoke for the first time, knee deep in water as the sun began to set, a joint between her lips. I still don't know what it was that made me approach her. Maybe it was because she reminded me so much of myself. Or perhaps I was finally just growing lonely.

We grew close, closer than I'd ever gotten with a human before. Eventually she figured it out, what I was. _Who_ I was. She was my flesh and blood, and when she begged me to stop killing, begged me all the way to her death bed, something inside of me cracked.

As a vampire, there's a sort of switch you can flick. One that shuts off your humanity, so you can live this lifestyle guilt-free. I'd been unfeeling for so long that when she came along and flicked the switch back, it was like a physical blow to the chest. The night she died, I cried for the first time in a hundred years, and I knew I had to fulfil her dying wish; to become somebody she'd have been proud of.

So I packed up what little possessions I had. Figuring that my best bet was to keep a low profile, I closed my eyes threw a dart at a map of the United States. It landed in southern California, some out-of-the-way place called Beacon County. I was physically eighteen, but passable as younger. I figured I could enrol in school, create something of a life for myself and try going cold turkey from being evil. It seemed to work for the vampires in modern pop culture.

And so that was how I found myself in Beacon Hills.

If I'd known the trouble I'd go through in that tiny, insignificant, godforsaken town, maybe I wouldn't have moved there. Maybe I would have headed in the opposite direction; run far, far away, where the dangers of wolves and hunters and banshees and innocent, hilarious, attractive teenagers couldn't possibly hurt me.

But I didn't know. I walked there blindly, meeting my fate with my chin held high; completely ignorant to the fact that I was in for the ride of my sorry existence.


	2. The Sharpest Lives

_There's a place in the dark where the animals go_

_You can take off your skin in the cannibal glow_

_Juliet loves the beat and the lust it commands_

_Drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, Romeo_

The Sharpest Lives – My Chemical Romance

* * *

The moon was nearly full.

In a few days, it would be at the peak of its cycle and I'd no doubt have to deal with werewolves running rampant around the forests surrounding the small town of Beacon Hills.

I could smell the scent of an alpha sticking to the trees in the forest, and I knew it would have had to have been there mere hours, if not _minutes_ before me. I sighed tiredly – barely a few full days and I was already exasperated – pulling out a cigarette and slipping it between my lips, cupping my hand around the end as I lit it up. My palm glowed in the light of the small flame, and my skin sizzled with the heat.

I tucked the little blue lighter back into my pocket, walking towards where I'd heard the sounds of a search party making their way through the forest, the police dogs' barking echoing off the trees.

I'd only been hoping for a late night stroll – trying to enjoy my freedom before I entered the hell scape that was human high school the very next day. I wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway, and at the very least, it was nice to see the stars without the lights of suburbia getting in the way.

I hadn't been expecting the police to be there. They were so loud, stumbling through the forest like uncoordinated children – they might as well have been carrying giant neon signs reading 'eat me'. It was tempting, but I'd sworn an oath, and it was one I was planning to uphold.

From the chatter over the police's radios, they were searching for a dead body. Curious, however not even in the slightest way my problem. As I puffed on my cigarette, I vaguely toyed with the idea of finding the murderer myself. Surely my vow not to kill any humans didn't include murderers – if I found and ate a killer, shouldn't I at least be awarded a medal or something?

It would be easy enough to tail the cops until they found the murderer of the young woman, or at least until I stumbled across them myself. With these thoughts in mind, I halfheartedly followed after them, avoiding the distracted officers with ease.

I trudged through the forest, footfalls silent on the earthy ground, cigarette held in one hand, the other trailing absentmindedly across the rough bark of the trees I passed.

I paused, cocking my head and listening to the sound of heavy footsteps stomping towards me, young voices ringing out through the woods, chattering carelessly as they moved through the trees. They weren't police, and they certainly weren't very intelligent, out here all alone, on tonight of all nights. If you could believe it, there were even _worse_ things in the forest tonight than me.

It was two young boys, and they certainly sounded innocent enough. In the blink of an eye I was standing behind them, intentionally stepping on a large stick so it snapped under my weight. Silence made humans uncomfortable. The sound echoed through the trees like a gunshot, and the two teenage boys gasped, spinning around with their hands held to their chests as though to keep their racing, human hearts from leaping out of their bodies.

It was hard for them to see me through the darkness, my dark clothes blending in with the shadows. Their eyes followed the glowing end of my cigarette as I took a drag, and I assessed them carefully. One was Latino, with large, innocent, puppy-dog eyes and floppy dark hair. The other had a buzz cut and a splattering of freckles and moles across his pale face. Both of their hearts were still pounding wetly, and each reeked of anxiety.

Things did get ever so boring in small towns; sometimes you had to make your own fun.

“And what are two young boys like yourselves doing out in the woods on a night like this?” I asked them playfully, leaning my weight against a tree and watching as they scrambled for a believable lie.

“Uh, no-nothing,” the freckle-covered one stammered. “Just out for a stroll. Doing some brotherly bonding,” he gave a wide, unconvincing smile, clapping his companion on the shoulder. “What – what're _you_ doing out in the woods, huh?” he turned the focus back onto me. I silently pondered the _opposite_ of smooth.

I sucked in another lungful of chemicals, watching carefully for their reactions as I spoke. “Hunting,” I told them. Smoke slid out of my mouth with the word, lit up in the silvery moonlight drifting through the gaps in the canopy.

This was a lie, of course – hunting inferred I was going to actually be _eating_ something at the end of the night. This particular excursion was more about the satisfaction, and the cure for the ever-present boredom that plagued my immortal existence.

The boy with the puppy-dog eyes sucked in a breath, then coughed loudly, pulling out an inhaler and taking a puff. The one with the buzz-cut didn't seem as affected, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at me suspiciously. I tilted my head, blinking innocently, though I doubted he could tell through the dark. While he put on a calm front, his heart was beating wildly in his chest.

A gust of wind swept through the trees, mussing their clothes then travelling to hit me, enveloping me in their scent.

One of them smelled like animal, and they obviously either owned a lot of pets or worked closely with them. The other's scent was intoxicating, mint and chocolate, mixed with a musky aftershave. My gums tingled and my eyes burned as, with great difficulty, I shoved down the instinct to snap the animal boy's spine and sink my teeth into his clueless friend's neck.

It would be so easy, too. It was dark, and they had no weapons. They wouldn't even have time to scream before they were choking on their own blood, and my hunger was satiated. I could already taste their blood on my tongue, tangy and hot and so satisfying I could almost cry.

“Hunting what?” mint-and-chocolate asked, and the sound of his voice was enough to jolt me back to reality. My lips quirked up into a dark, rueful smirk – these two children hadn't the faintest idea how close they'd just come to their ends.

I wanted to stay, play a little more, but the longer I stayed, the more danger they were in. Better for me to move on.

“Stay safe, boys,” I said flippantly, turning on my heel and slowly blending back into the shadows. “Who knows what's out there?” I added, unable to resist one final, teasing jibe. “Wouldn't want to run into the big bad wolf.”

I grinned at my own private joke, thinking about the wild, bloodthirsty alpha running through the wood. If they didn't head home soon, they might find themselves as werewolf chew-toys by morning – that, however, was not my problem.

“Wait––” one of them called out from behind me, but I didn't bother to turn around, walking further into the trees, my mind already on my next source of entertainment. That was life as an immortal, just a cycle of one thing after another, anything to keep my mind active and thinking, lest I go insane from my impending eternity.

Things were so easy back when I embodied 'evil'. It wasn't hard to find fun, not when you thrived on finding minds to pull apart and spit in; not when you lived with a background chorus of human screams; not when you had so much blood flowing into your mouth it threatened to choke you.

Now, what was I? Reduced to wandering the woods of some backwater town in California, searching for something to cure the boredom that seemed to have settled into my bones like a cancer? There were only so many books you could read and so many exercises you could go through before you got sick of the monotony.

I wandered towards the sounds of the search party, idly calculating how easy it would be to pick off one of the deputies. It wouldn't be difficult at all, they were spaced so far away from each other. I could get one from the back, out of sight of the others, cover his mouth and snap his neck before anyone knew he was missing.

I knew it wasn't something that could ever happen, knew I wouldn't allow it. I wouldn't go that far. I wouldn't hurt so much as a hair on anyone's head – if only in respect for Myra's memory. Still, a little bit of fantasising never hurt anyone, did it?

I kept out of the light of the officers' torches, dropping what was left of my cigarette into a wet patch on the ground. Rain filtered through the canopy above me, and soon my long, raven hair was clinging to the leather of my jacket, my bangs sticking to the sides of my face. I brushed it away from my ear, cocking my head as I concentrated on what the police were saying.

Most of them were silent, diligently searching for the other half of the missing body. Some were muttering between themselves about what they'd found, one of which being one of the two boys from before. I listened as he was chastised by the man who was obviously his relative, and as they walked further away from where I was standing, I distantly wondered what had happened to the other one.

My train of thought was derailed as I heard a growl from somewhere deep in the trees to my left. I spun around, fangs dropping instinctively as I let out a warning hiss. I wasn't planning to get into a fight with a werewolf tonight. After all, according to legend, one bite and I was – as they say – dust.

I knew I might as well properly assess the threat. If I was going to live comfortably in this town for the foreseeable future, that threat would probably have to be eliminated, or at least in some way made a non-issue. I could always move, but that sounded so _tiresome_.

Another growl reverberated through the trees surrounding me, and I heard the distant rumble of a stampede. I groaned in agitation, leaping into the air and grasping ahold of a low-hanging branch, pulling myself upwards with ease. I made myself comfortable in the fork of a tree, one leg swinging freely in the air as I watched the deer sprint through the trees, desperate to get away from the monster in the shadows – or rather, the _other_ monster in the shadows.

Sensing me, they steered clear of the tree I'd pulled myself into, leaving several feet on either side. My alert eyes watched the shadows, my perfect eyesight searching for any hint of the alpha. I was prepared to go toe-to-toe, should it come to it, but I would have hated to get blood on my shirt. Plus, I never had been a very good fighter.

My skills lay in the areas of intelligence: espionage; strategy; and, when the occasion called for it, torture. That didn't mean I couldn't hold my own in a fight however. And if I was going to go down, I would go down swinging.

The alpha, whoever they were, wisely stayed out of sight. I knew they knew I was there, but they never approached. Probably because they knew one small, measly nomadic vampire wasn't worth the trouble.

Once the stampede had dispersed I dropped gracefully from the tree, landing silently in the dirt. Tilting my head up, I sniffed at the air cautiously. A familiar dead, rotten smell met my nose, along with the stench of freshly-spilled blood. Hunger surged through me and for the second time that night I was forced to shove it down.

I had to focus on finding this body. From there, I'd hopefully have a scent with which I could track the killer, and then I could finally have some _real_ fun.

I'd sworn not to eat humans, but murderers weren't really _human_ now, were they? I could attest to that. And I didn't have to eat him – just play a little, something to take the edge off before my first day of school in the morning.

A twig snapped to my right and I slid seamlessly behind a tree, out of sight of the boy stumbling clumsily through the forest. It was the animal boy from earlier in the night. I watched as he clicked his mobile phone on, using the glow from the screen to illuminate the ground in front of him, frantically searching for something. I kept hidden, my eyes darting to the dead body – the source of the scent I'd been tracking.

I sniffed in again, but found only the stench of blood and rotting flesh, mixed with faint traces of werewolf. I deflated. Of course the alpha was behind this. Why couldn't it have been some kind of sick, masochistic human? Didn't I ever get to have _any_ fun?

I huffed silently, crossing my arms and beginning to leave when I was stopped by the sound of paws hitting the moist earth. I froze, stopping my breathing completely. All my natural instincts screamed at me to run, but I ignored them, glancing to the human boy. This innocent kid was about to be killed by an alpha, or worse, turned by one. The new me couldn't just let it happen while she sat idly by, she had to _do_ _something_.

I exhaled sharply, hands clenching into fists, prepared to fight. I didn't know what shape this alpha would take. Would they be normal? A half-turned man-wolf with canines and facial hair? Or would it be a real wolf? Sleek and slender, smaller but just as deadly? Or would it be something else entirely?

I spun around as the boy cried out, slipping from my defensive position. While I'd been distracted by the alpha I'd failed to notice him approaching the corpse half hidden in the earth. He jerked backwards with another cry, all but throwing himself down a steep hill at his back. I rolled my eyes, dashing to the top of the hill and staring down at him, trying to make sure he was okay _and_ keep an eye out for the alpha. I watched as the boy panted for breath, clamouring to his feet and brushing leaves and moss from his hoodie.

Another threatening growl sounded throughout the forest, this one louder than any I'd heard that night. I'd been distracted, I hadn't noticed it until it was too late. I leapt down the hill, sliding across the ground and shoving myself at the giant beast.

Unnameable, ugly beast from hell seemed to about cover it.

I tackled it, but not in time to stop it from sinking its teeth into the poor boy's side. I frowned, full of pity and self-loathing, but knew I had to focus on the fight at hand. Luckily I didn't have to worry about the kid, he scrambled to his feet, sprinting in the other direction as fast as he could.

I wrapped my arm around the werewolf's throat, but couldn't get the grip that I needed to snap its thick, furry neck. Nevertheless, I squeezed, and it reared its head up towards the nearly-full moon, letting out a piercing howl that made my sensitive ears ring. With one powerful shake it threw me off, sending me slamming into a nearby tree. The wood cracked under the assault. I sprang up from the ground, my eyes a bloody red as I let out a feral snarl.

It charged at me, and we met with a loud bang, smashing together. It may have been stronger, but I was faster, and I darted out of its reach before it could wrap its monster jaws around any part of me. Its paw scraped my thigh, ripping right through my dirty old jeans and slicing the skin underneath. I pressed my lips together to swallow a cry and shoved my other, un-injured leg out as hard as I could. It connected with what I assumed were the beast's ribs, and I heard a satisfying crunch that made me grin with sick pleasure. It whimpered and scrambled backwards.

I pressed a hand to my bloody thigh and decided that, now that the boy was out of harm's way, I had tempted fate enough for one night.

Biting my tongue through the pain I turned and got the hell out of there, running as fast as my injured leg would carry me, all the way back to the cold, half-empty house I now called home.

* * *

I tried not to show I was limping as I made my way through the crowd of students heading towards the front doors of their school. Despite my best efforts, my tattered shoes slapped against the pavement in an uneven beat. It was obvious something was wrong. I absent-mindedly patted the swollen part of my leg, cursing the mutt that did it to me. Scratches from an alpha took longer to heal than anything else, so I was stuck with the ache running down my leg every time I put weight on my foot.

People stared as I walked, but that wasn't too surprising – I was a new student at a small town school, people were bound to gawk – so I didn't pay much attention. I adjusted the bag thrown over my shoulder and pushed past a freshman walking too slow for my taste. I sucked in a breath, wincing as I caught the scent of the lively humans, trying not to think about just how easy it would be to let my fangs slide free and munch on their delicate little necks.

It definitely sounded like a better alternative to geometry, or whatever the fuck it was kids studied at high school these days.

I grumbled a cuss under my breath, digging in the pocket of my jeans to pull out a cigarette, lifting it to my lips and lighting it in one smooth movement as I walked through the front doors. I'd just turned the first corner when a soft warm body slammed directly into me.

“Oh – sorry,” a voice began to say as he looked up. I tilted my head, staring back at him blatantly. It took a moment, but I recognised him; he was the mint-and-chocolate boy from woods the night before. I couldn't tell right away if he recognised me, because his eyes were immediately drawn to the cigarette between my teeth. “You can't smoke that in here.”

They didn't even let kids smoke between classes? No wonder teen suicides were up. I took another puff, the corner of my lips twitched up into something imitating a smirk. “Watch me.”

“Hey,” he exclaimed suddenly, recognition lighting up in his honey-brown eyes as he gestured wildly to the smoke. “You're that girl. The one from last night, in the woods.”

I narrowed my eyes, flicking the ash from my stick and watching him carefully. “What of it?” I asked nonchalantly, listening to his heartbeat as it raced. He was clearly surprised by my blunt question, blinking at me uncomprehendingly. I stared back, unwilling to elaborate.

“Well, uh, well – you go to school here,” he said, stumbling over his words like an insecure child.

I frowned, wondering if he had a disability, or whether he was just stupid. “Obviously,” I drawled lazily.

He cringed, as though I were embarrassing him. But if he didn't want to look like an idiot, he should probably stop saying stupid things. “I _meant_ that I haven't seen you around before,” he said, blinking his honey eyes at me innocently. “Are you new?” he asked conversationally.

“Yes,” I told him blankly, lifting the cigarette to my lips to take another puff. His heart raced and he avoided my eyes. I idly remembered that humans needed to blink regularly – when I didn't they tended to get uncomfortable. I promptly shut and opened my eyes in a repetitive motion.

“Um, where did you move from?” the kid tried again. I wondered why he cared. Were all humans so persistently inquisitive?

I may have been new to this way of life, but I knew before coming here that I needed a cover-story. Before I hadn't stayed anywhere permanent, hadn't remained somewhere long enough for my identity to be an issue. It was different here, annoyingly so. “I'm from New York,” I told him with a shrug. That's what it said on my falsified records, at least.

“Ah, the Empire State!” he cheered with a kind of goofy grin. “The Big Apple!” I stared back at him with an impassive expression, unsure how I was supposed to react. Was he trying to be my friend? Humans were so strange. “Right,” he muttered awkwardly, glancing over his shoulder at where his friend from the other night was pulling books out of his locker.

He was the one who'd been bitten, and I knew by his wet-dog scent – plus the way he wasn't curled over in agony – that he was going to survive the bite. He was transforming into a wolf, and I wondered if he even knew it.

“Who's your friend?” I asked the mint-and-chocolate boy before me, jerking my chin in the newborn pup's direction.

“Scott,” he called, making the dazed-looking boy perk up, turning to face us expectantly. I met his eyes, searching his gaze. I needed to know if this boy was somehow going to be a threat. “This is the girl from the woods last night,” mint-and-chocolate told the one called Scott, pointing to me with his thumb.

The wolf's eyes widened for a moment, but otherwise he didn't react. “Scott McCall,” he told me, holding out a hand to shake. I took it, noting that he was running just a few degrees hotter than a normal human. I nodded in vague greeting, my eyes sliding over to the other boy when he too held out a hand to shake.

“Stiles Stilinski,” he said as I reluctantly took it, trying not to grimace when I felt the thrum of his blood from under his skin. “Whoa, you're cold,” he mumbled, frowning down at my pale skin, and I quickly ripped my hand from his grasp, tucking it into my pocket instead. “Um, and you are?” he asked stiltedly, and I wondered whether he were just perpetually awkward.

Realising I hadn't introduced myself, I lifted my cigarette to my lips, taking a puff before telling him my alias. “Juliet Cooper,” I said with easy confidence. The first name was real, but the last was something fake I'd pulled from a phonebook.

If there was one thing vampires were good at, it was lying. Especially with no heartbeat to give us away.

The school's bell rang from above our heads, and Scott cringed at the piercing noise. I knew it was his brand new, extra-sensitive hearing capabilities making him wince, and I had a flash of empathy for him as I remembered when I'd first turned and how difficult it had been to handle everything. He'd get used to it – after all, he had no choice. This was his life now.

“Well, we should get going,” Scott said, glancing over his shoulder at something down the hall.

“Okay,” I replied unfeelingly, not in the mood to waste any more of my time chatting with the two young delinquents anyway. I strode past them, ignoring the way Stiles flinched when my cold arm brushed his warm one.

I opened my bag, walking down the middle of the hall and not bothering to watch where I was going as I dug out my schedule and the accompanied map. I had English first, which was preferable to anything else. I loved to read anyway, and after two centuries of speaking the language, I doubted there was anything a forty year-old high school teacher could tell me that I didn't already know.

After English was French, which I didn't mind. I'd lived in Paris for a few years. I wasn't an expert at the language, like I was some others, but I knew enough to get by. I wandered in through to the back, barely glancing at the elderly woman standing by the board. I took a seat on the far left, dropping my bag to the ground and tapping my fingers against the wooden desktop, boredom practically seeping from my pores.

“Hi,” a quiet, shy voice spoke from my left, and I rolled my head towards the culprit. A young girl sat beside me, all dark hair and pretty, angled facial features.

“Yes?” I asked her bluntly, hardly in the mood for idle chatter.

She looked taken aback, unsure how to answer me. She looked like she was about to tell me it didn't matter, backing down until a sudden determinedness came into her eyes and she tilted her chin up slightly. Something deep within me was impressed, but I squashed it down, not in the mood for any sort of sentimentality. “I'm Allison. I heard from somebody that it's your first day too.”

I raised an eyebrow, deciding humouring her was my best bet at getting out of this as quickly and as painlessly as possible. “That's right.” There was a moment of silence before I realised this was the part where I was meant to supply my own name. “Juliet,” I told her reluctantly.

“Where did you move from?” she asked, a polite smile on her apple-red lips.

“New York,” I answered robotically, moving to pull a book and pen from my bag so I looked busy. Maybe if I seemed to be distracted, she'd stop trying to talk to me.

“Oh, I love it there,” the girl sighed wistfully. It was quite obviously a segue, an opportunity for me to ask about her time there, thus feeding the conversation. But I had no interest in talking to her any more than I absolutely had to.

Thankfully the ageing teacher called the class to attention before she could make anymore small talk. I was relieved, a few more minutes of mind-numbing chatter and I would have had to resort to compulsion, which could only end badly. Mind-control was a slippery slope. You start out with good intentions, then end up naked on a boat in Mexican waters next to a dead guy named Lito.

The class dragged on, as did the next one, and the next, and throughout the day I found myself questioning why I had ever even decided to come back to school in the first place. It wasn't challenging or educational like college had been; it wasn't socially stimulating, surrounded by such young, un-evolved minds; and to top it all off, it was like sitting in the middle of a hormone cocktail, the children's scents swimming around me like a fog.

The moment the last bell rang I was fucking gone, walking as quickly as I could without raising suspicion and hightailing it the hell out of there. I breathed in the beautiful, crisp air as I walked, bag slung lazily over one shoulder.

I made my way into the woods only a few miles from my house, deciding I preferred the hum of nature to the creaking of old wood, and the fresh scent of moss over the stale smell of aged dust.

I folded myself down at the base of a tree and cracked open a battered old copy of _Catcher in the Rye._ I glanced up at the sun; looking up at it sent a searing pain through my head, and my gaze immediately sought out the thick, heavy ring sitting on the middle finger of my right hand, the lapis lazuli stone glittering in the sunshine. The only thing standing between me and a very painful, fiery death.

I liked the forests here. They weren't so thick you could barely walk, but they weren't so thin it was basically a field with a few trees. So when I decided I wanted some downtime, some time to relax without all the stress and scents surrounding my new peers, this was the first place that came to mind.

Despite the sun weakening me, I still preferred it over the dark. It reminded me that I was different to the others of my kind who lived in shadows. It made me feel better about myself, in a strange sort of way. Like I didn't have to hide. Like I was free – when really, I was anything but.

“What are you doing here?” a cold voice asked out of nowhere, and I looked up sharply, not expecting a man to be standing above me. I inwardly cursed my distraction – it was going to get me killed one of these days.

I didn't want this guy to think he intimidated me in any way, so despite the anxiety prickling in my blood, I remained where I was, lounged about at the base of a large tree as though I were utterly at ease.

I took a deep breath in, keeping my expression carefully schooled when I caught his dog-like scent.

_Werewolf._

I tipped my lips up into a small, mocking smile. “I'm reading a book,” I told him, smirking up at him lazily, like the situation somehow amused me. Survival 101: don't appear intimidated by your enemy. Ever.

The unnamed wolf glared down at me with a pair of brilliant, baby blue eyes. “Why are you in Beacon Hills?” he restated his question, bulging arms crossed over his chest, his body language screaming that he was irritated and on the defensive. Was he expecting a fight? I didn't feel like killing a wolf today, but I'd defend myself if I had to.

“Why are _you_?” I countered pleasantly, blinking up at him with my own set of dazzling emerald greens, putting on a superficial act, hoping it would make him underestimate me. When he didn't answer I sighed, putting aside my book and standing to my feet in one smooth motion. “How about, instead of questioning each other's motives like a couple of paranoid ninnies, we simply get straight to the heart of the matter?” I said bluntly.

The werewolf's face didn't so much as twitch, and I leaned back against the tree trunk casually, looking for all the world like I wasn't coiled into a tight spring, prepared to launch into an attack at a moment's notice.

“Are you the alpha?” I asked when he said nothing, my voice flat and steady.

“No,” he answered immediately, his heart keeping a steady beat. Either he was telling the truth, or he was just a fantastic liar.

“Prove it,” I replied tersely, narrowing my eyes at him. “You'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it,” I added with a saccharine smile. He exhaled sharply, aggravated. I stared back impassively, refusing to back down. “Show me those pretty little eyes of yours,” I goaded him, keeping in mind that I was faster – I'd easily be able to get away before he could sink his teeth into my flesh.

The werewolf scowled deeply, but complied, clearly deciding it was easier just to humour me than to argue. Smart wolf. His eyes glowed a bright, shimmering blue; which was interesting. I idly wondered what fucked up thing had happened in his past to make his eyes turn such a depressing colour.

Okay, so that confirmed it. This wolf wasn't the Alpha currently terrorising the mild town of Beacon Hills. But then how did he fit in to all of this?

I relaxed my stance in an effort to show him that I wasn't _necessarily_ a threat. At least, not in the immediate sense. “Juliet Cooper,” I offered like an olive branch. I didn't hold out my hand to sake, but he didn't seem to mind. The thought of having to him having to touch me was probably about as repulsive as it was the other way round.

“Derek Hale,” he told me, and my eyebrows raised in surprise. A _Hale_? Of course, I'd heard of the Hale pack; who in the supernatural community hadn't? They were powerful, or they had been, once upon a time. A few years ago they'd disappeared completely, and I hadn't heard anything of them since. Still, I didn't exactly have my ear to the ground when it came to the werewolf rumour mill.

Apart from the slight rise of my brow, I kept my expression neutral, giving no real sign of recognition.

“I suppose you're one of the alpha's betas, then?” I presumed, cocking my head and eyeing him carefully, watching for any hint of deception.

“No,” he told me, eyes flickering around the clearing shiftily, like he was half expecting my entourage of bloodthirsty ninjas to appear from thin air and attack. “I don't know who he is. But I intend to find out.” There was a layer of disgust to his voice, and I got the sense that he held some kind of personal vendetta against this mysterious alpha.

“You knew the dead girl?” I asked him shortly.

His only reply was a stoic nod of his head. I would have had to have been deaf – or human – to miss the skip of his pulse. She'd meant something to him.

“Well, looks like we're on the same team. I don't want some alpha on a power trip ruining my chance of a good solid few years here before I have to move on. Hunters catch wind of animal attacks, there're only so many species of supernatural they're going to take a run at. And you and me, buddy? We're on the top of that list,” I told him in a lazy drawl, nothing he didn't already know.

“Will you be causing any 'animal attacks' of your own?” he asked tightly, levelling me with a hard, penetrating gaze.

I smiled bitterly before pursing my lips to cover it. _I wish_ , I wanted to say, the cold, hard truth. “Not to worry,” I told him blankly, “I drink the stuff on ice.” I didn't add that this was a recent development, and that the grasp I had on my control was tenuous at best. “What about you?” I asked, watching him carefully. “Come full moon, am I going to have to worry about you chomping on some kid's liver?”

His eyes narrowed, but otherwise he didn't rise to the bait I'd set. “I have full control.” His crossed arms tightened as he chewed his next few words. “Unfortunately, so does the alpha.”

“Which will make him harder to catch,” I finished with a grim, knowing nod.

He looked like he wanted to say more, but before he had the chance the sound of young voices floated towards our location. We both froze, heads tilted towards the newcomers. I took a deep breath in, huffing reflexively when I caught the scent of mint and chocolate on the wind. This kid was fucking _everywhere_.

Without verbally agreeing on anything, both myself and the werewolf had disappeared from our places a good acre away. We reappeared within human earshot of them, but neither of them noticed us, too focused on their conversation to realise we were there.

We were silent, watching the two boys as the one called Stiles joked about Scott being a werewolf. I found the irony in their conversation hilarious, but bit my lip to hide the smile.

The Stiles boy laughed at something he'd murmured, then turned in my direction. He noticed us standing a few yards away, both silently waiting for them to realise we were there, and jumped, heart racing in his chest. I tilted my head, peering at the pair thoughtfully.

“What are you doing here? Huh?” Hale asked in more of a growl than anything else, striding forwards until he was mere feet away from them. I followed behind at a more leisurely pace, my arms crossed as I watched the interaction carefully. Stiles glanced up at me from under his lashes, immediately shooting his gaze away when he saw me already looking, like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have been. “This is private property,” Hale snapped roughly, and the boys winced.

“Sorry, guys, we didn't know,” Stiles said, awkwardly readjusting his jacket and avoiding our eyes. Perhaps he sensed what most humans sensed when confronted by us: pure, unadulterated danger.

“Yeah, we were just looking for something but, uh, forget it,” Scott added, staring at Derek oddly, sensing something completely different to his human friend. Surprisingly, Hale reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, plastic object and throwing it to Scott, the boy snatching it from the air with deft hands, seeming to surprise himself.

We all glanced down at the inhaler now held in his grasp, until Derek suddenly turned around, shoving his hands in his pockets and jerking his head at me discretely.

I hesitated, flicking my eyes between the two confused boys in front of me. Stiles' heart picked up again, and I flashed him a smirk. Something must have come across in my eyes, because they both averted their gaze uncomfortably. Content with the fear I'd instilled, I spun on my heel, shoes sinking into the mud as I turned to follow Derek Hale back to the tree we'd previously been standing by.

And so the teenage boys were left alone in the woods, utterly confused and no doubt slightly unsettled by our little encounter.

“You could've cut the tension with a knife,” I muttered once we were out of sight, pulling out a cigarette and my lighter from my pocket, shoving the stick between my lips and lighting it before tucking the lighter back into the safety of my pocket. I'd had that old thing for nearly a decade, it had sort of grown on me. “You know about the boy, then?” I asked, realising that he hadn't been surprised by Scott's scent just now.

“The alpha's new beta, the kid we just saw?” he asked rhetorically, and I clicked my tongue in response, nodding slightly. “You go to school with him, right?”

“Regrettably,” I responded dully, raising a single eyebrow to appear more bored than I felt. It was important that this werewolf perceived me in a specific way. It was how I'd survived this long. Hale stared back at me, a question in his eyes. “I'll keep an eye on him,” I promised with a huff, reaching up to brush my jet black hair from my eyes. “But if anything comes up, he's _your_ problem to deal with.”

And I meant it. I would watch him, make sure the kid didn't get himself gutted by a hunter because he was too stupid to keep the supernatural a secret. But beyond that, this kid wasn't my problem.

“If you need to find me, I live in the burnt down house two miles North of here,” said Hale tersely.

...Sure, because _that_ wasn't creepy and irritatingly enigmatic.

“Okay,” I responded, already feeling sort of drained. I could only handle so much human contact in a day before it started to get to me. I was tired, sick of people, sick of fighting against the instinct to _kill_ those people. Feeling like this was probably one of those situations where you reciprocated your details, I sighed, rattling off my address to him reluctantly.

I sent the wolf him one final, sardonic smile before scooping up my book and disappearing through the trees. The only thing on my mind was picking out a new novel and drawing myself a scolding hot bubble bath to soak away the stress.

* * *

I pushed my way through the sea of sweaty high school students, a red cup full of some kind of shitty watered down beer held in my hand. “Hey baby,” some drunk senior moaned, pressing into my side. I pushed my hand against his chest, giving him one hard shove to the side, sending him stumbling back into the crowd. I wiped my hand on my jeans in disgust, slipping through a gap in the throng and moving towards the corner of the room.

I had no idea why I'd thought this would be a good idea. Me and a hundred, sweaty teens stuffed into a house? It was practically an all-you-can-eat buffet. But this was what _normal_ teenagers did, wasn't it? They went to parties and drank awful booze and made decisions they'd regret in the morning. It was how things worked these days, and you either evolved with the times or got left behind.

I took another sip of the disgusting beer, grimacing in distaste as it slid over my tongue, foamy and gross.

I thought that maybe I should have smuggled in some of the good stuff, but didn't really give it more than a passing thought. Like I'd waste quality alcohol on _these_ hormonal pricks.

I leaned to my right, discretely tipping the contents of my cup into a pot plant and then carelessly tossing the empty red cup over my shoulder.

I felt eyes on me, and not in a creepy, leery type of way. Glancing to my left, I met eyes with Stiles Stilinski. He was staring at me with wide eyes. He looked torn between awe and terror. I raised an eyebrow challengingly, wondering if he was going to approach me. He didn't, turning on his heel and marching around the corner and out of sight.

I was somewhat bemused by the encounter, but I couldn't be bothered following up on it. My eyes were scanning the occupants of the party, searching for something interesting, anything to justify coming here. Part of me hated it; it was loud and smelly and pathetic. And yet part of me loved it; because it was loud and smelly and pathetic. As usual, I was torn.

Deciding I'd had enough for one night, I turned to leave, stopping short when my eyes slid over a dancing Scott and Allison. I pursed my lips, listening to the sound of his heart beating wildly in his chest. This could be bad; if he snapped and lost control, there was no telling what kind of damage he could inflict. All it would take is the right person asking the right questions and we were all, quite potentially, done for. He glanced up at the full moon, grimacing and clenching his hands into fists.

I huffed, rolling my neck and pushing myself off the wall. Looked like I was going to have to clean up yet another goddamn mess tonight. He mumbled a terrible excuse to Allison, who looked confused and worried, then pushed his way through the crowd. With a sigh I followed him, shoving my way past the drunk, witless teens. By the time I'd caught up to him, he was already in his car and driving away.

I shrugged to myself, knowing that at least the immediate danger was gone, and he'd probably go home, lock himself in his room or something to ride it out. Either way, there was no way I was following him home to find out, so I turned on my heel, heading in the opposite direction of the party, down the street leading to the woods.

I paused, realising one gaping hole in my plan. Allison.

Exposure wasn't something to be taken lightly. If there was one thing we vampires took seriously, it was the secrecy of our kind. It was how we'd survived so long in the first place.

Allison would be left suspicious by Scott's leaving, and when I asked myself 'what would Myra do?', I knew the answer was always going to be _help them_.

“Allison?” I spoke before I could talk myself out of it, my tone sounding pleasantly surprised to see her there.

The dark haired girl turned around, blinking at me in bewilderment. “Oh,” she murmured, apparently surprised to see me there. Understandable, I didn't exactly give off a high-school-party type vibe. “Hi, Juliet,” she said politely, still looking over her shoulder for Scott. “Have you seen––?” she began to ask.

“Scott?” I supplied, fishing out another cigarette and slipping it between my teeth. “He wasn't feeling well,” I said; not a _total_ lie, “he had to get going.”

“Oh,” the poor girl looked so terribly disappointed that _I_ almost felt guilty. Fucking emotions. “Uh, I don't want you to think I'm leeching off of you,” she said suddenly, and I had to bark a laugh at the wording, “but could I get a ride?”

“Don't have a car,” I responded blithely, flicking the ash from the tip of my smoke and shrugging my shoulders.

“Oh,” the human sighed again, and I cringed at my tactlessness.

“You don't wanna stick around, enjoy the party?” I asked, attempting that inane chatter that she seemed so fond of. Humans seemed to be put at ease by the whole charade that was smalltalk.

“No, I think I just wanna go home,” Allison sighed, glancing over her shoulder at the party, some horrible, repetitive tune pumping through a horrible, low-grade sound system. Hormone fuelled humans spilled out onto the lawn, their bodies sweaty and flushed, writhing against each other as they drank horrible, barely-real alcohol and pretended to have the time of their lives.

It was the Earthly version of hell, I was sure.

“Yeah, I don't blame you,” I muttered as I looked to the sky, blowing out smoke rings in an effort to chase away the impending boredom.

“Smoking's bad for you, you know,” Allison said quietly, her head cocked as she watched me inhale.

“So I've been told,” I replied flatly without missing a beat, and instead of making her uncomfortable, she only laughed, gripping her jacket tight and beaming at me with all the brilliance of the sun. “I could walk you home,” I offered reluctantly. She seemed like a nice girl, and sure, I wasn't looking for _friends_ , but would it be so terrible to have an ally or two in this town?

I'd already aligned myself with werewolves, why not add a human to the list?

“Thanks, but it's miles,” Allison sighed. “I'd never get there before curfew.”

I hummed in response, flicking the ash from my cigarette again. The hair on my arms stood on end, and I turned just as another form made their way up to us. I knew who it was before I even looked.

“Hey, Juliet,” Hale said cheerfully, as though we were _buddies._ “I couldn't help but overhear,” he told us with an apologetic look that was so obviously fake it made me want to bash my head into the cement, although Allison hardly seemed to notice. “You need a ride?” he offered with that same, charming smile.

“Allison,” I huffed out around a mouthful of smoke, uncaring, “meet Derek Hale.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said politely.

“I was just heading out,” he said with that smile still firmly locked into place. I wondered briefly on his motives. Did he wanna eat her? Or something even more nefarious? Who knew what wolves dreamt of doing to pretty little humans like Allison? I didn't pretend to know what went on up inside those canine brains of theirs. “I'd be happy to take you home,” he said with a wolfish grin.

Allison hesitated, turning to look at me as though I was the authority on all things Derek Hale. I paused, eyeing the wolf closely. His pulse was steady, and I didn't really get a _blood-thirsty, serial killer_ kind of vibe from him – it took one to know one, after all.

“Derek's good people,” I assured her. I wasn't sure whether that was a lie or not; I decided not to let it bother me. “He'll get you home safe,” I added, and of that much, at least, I was certain.

“Great,” Allison beamed again, and I smirked back uncomfortably. “I'll see you at school?” she asked me, and I hummed in agreement. With a final wave of her hand, she turned and left, following Derek to the sleek, ostentatious car sitting idle on the curb.

Nothing made me feel better or more myself than a leisurely nighttime stroll. I made my way slowly through the suburbs until I hit the forest, deciding to walk through it on my way home. I continued to puff on my cigarette, considering taking a hospital run in the next day or so to stock up on my blood stores – I didn't want to risk them getting too low.

I was about halfway home when I caught a familiar scent on the wind, stopping dead. “Derek?” I asked, tilting my head in his direction as he stepped out from behind a tree.

He'd been quick, apparently, in taking Allison home. Or perhaps, I'd been _slow_ , meandering my way through the town, unconcerned about time as I wandered back towards my house. Derek leaned against the tree trunk, crossing his arms and sending me a completely apathetic look, one that even _I_ was impressed by. I took another drag from my cigarette, watching him carefully.

“Giving the girl a ride home. Risky move,” I muttered, now that I could speak freely.

“Well, I needed to draw Scott out somehow,” he shrugged.

“And what's your plan, exactly? Taunt the boy into submission?” I asked wryly.

He opened his mouth to retort, but paused when the sound of someone running through the forest pricked at our sensitive ears. They were close to where we stood, bathed in moonlight and waiting for them to approach.

“Speak of the devil,” I smirked, listening to the new beta's racing heart and gasping breaths. Derek had led him here, of that much I was certain. What were the odds that I, too, was stumbling upon them? Why couldn't I just be left alone? Why did it always come back to these _boys_?

“Where is she?” Scott growled as he appeared between a gap in the trees, looking around wildly, having trouble spotting us as we blended into the shadows with our dark clothes and hair.

“She's safe,” Derek told him stonily. “From you.”

He all but catapulted out of the darkness, throwing himself at the teen wolf. I sighed in sheer exasperation, sucking in another lungful of chemicals and watching them with only a mild interest. Derek was stronger and smarter, but there was something infinitely dangerous about a brand new, out of control werewolf on the full moon.

They rolled across the ground, wrestling one another, each trying to land a hit. Either way, I'd have to put my money on Derek, and I smirked as I saw the older wolf pin the younger one down.

“What did you do with her?” Scott roared, beginning to border on hysteria.

Before he could retort, the distant sound of hurried footsteps met my ears, and both Derek and I snapped our heads up, each of us hearing the threatening sound. I sniffed the air, smelling the sweat of humans and a hint of wolfsbane on the wind.

Hunters.

“Shh, quiet,” Derek hissed at Scott. I hastily crumbled the cigarette in my palm, the lightened end searing my skin, leaving burns that disappeared in moments. I dropped it to the ground, muscles coiling as I prepared to defend myself.

The footsteps raced towards us, and I scowled, tossing up my options. I could run. I was a thousand times faster than the human hunters, and it wouldn't be hard to lose them in the darkness. However, something in me told me that leaving the two wolves to die was a bad idea. I couldn't afford to start off here on the local werewolf population's bad side.

“Too late,” whispered Derek, dread in his luminescent eyes. “They're already here. Run.”

The two wolves took off in opposite directions. I growled in frustration, but refused to allow my true face to show. The best course of action was to let the hunters assume I was a wolf. I didn't want to make them think anything else, least of all _vampire._

I raced off to the left, sprinting around so I came up behind the hunters as they began to let arrows fire, ones that exploded upon contact with trees. I watched as Scott got shot and itched to make them pay. I knew, though, that I couldn't kill them. In my experience, killing hunters only made the remaining ones more likely to come after you. I couldn't kill them all and I couldn't run forever.

With that in mind, I picked off one of the smaller ones at the back of the group, covering his mouth with my hand and wrenching his weapon from him, tossing it as far as I could into the darkness. I snatched the back of his jacket, hooking it onto a low hanging branch and letting him hang there. He yelled out for help and one of the other hunters turned his attention from Scott to me. It was probably for the best; I had a much better chance at surviving this.

“Take him,” the leader said as one of his goons turned to me. I groaned, moving forwards with large strides until I reached him, pulling my fist back and slamming my knuckles into his nose before he could do anything to stop me. He cried out as the bone shattered under my fist, blood pouring from his face as he crumpled to the muddy ground.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Scott scramble to his feet and take off into the darkness. Knowing he was out of immediate danger, I didn't stick around to play with the hunters, sprinting after the wolves too fast for their weak human eyes to see.

They ran through the trees, dodging branches and leaping over logs. I had to slow my strides to keep pace with them, running at a jog so I remained just behind them, continuously checking over my shoulder for any sign of the hunters.

Finally, after a long few minutes of running through the dark night, Scott came to a stop, collapsing against a tree trunk and gasping for breath. “Who are they?” he asked. He must have noticed me during the fight, because he didn't look too surprised to see me standing behind Derek, arms crossed casually over my chest.

“Hunters,” the older werewolf told him sombrely. “Their kind have been hunting us for centuries.”

“ _Us_?” Scott yelled, outraged as he dragged himself to his feet, eyes shifting between us both, distrust shining within their depths. “You mean _you_! _You_ did this to me!”

I wanted to tell him that Hale wasn't an alpha, so it would be impossible for him to have turned him, but I decided to keep my mouth shut. Getting involved in wolf politics wasn't going to help me keep hold of my low profile.

“Is it really so bad Scott? That you can see better? Hear more clearly? Move faster than any human could ever hope? You've been given something that most people would kill for,” Derek told him with feeling, and I rolled my eyes at the spiel. “The bite is a _gift_.”

“I don't want it,” the new beta insisted loudly, staring across at the older wolf furiously.

There was a pregnant pause, and I shifted my weight, growing antsy. I wanted to get home and draw a bath, an option sounding far nicer than standing in the middle of a hunter infested forest with a pair of drama-queen werewolves.

“You will,” Derek assured Scott, who scowled in reply. “And you're going to need me if you want to learn how to control it.” He leaned closer to the terrified boy, pressing his hand to the bark above his head, making him flinch back with trepidation. “So you and me, Scott? We're brothers now.”

He'd apparently decided that was enough, stepping back and turning away, slowly heading back into the forest. Scott swallowed and looked up at me where I stood leant against a fallen tree, the epitome of relaxed.

“Does that make you my sister?” the teen wolf asked bitterly, closing his eyes tightly. I pretended I couldn't see them watering.

My lips twitched up into an amused smirk. I preferred to maintain the low profile now that there were hunters involved, so the last thing I needed was some baby werewolf knowing all my dirty little secrets. For now, I'd let him believe whatever he wanted. I wasn't going to be revealing anything any time soon.

“See you at school, Scott,” I told him with a false smile that melted off my face the second my back was turned. I was gone before he'd realised I'd moved.

* * *

I wandered into my house, flicking the light on as I passed the switch. The small living room to my small, two bedroom house lit up with a warm glow, revealing my old red couches and walls covered with books. I threw my keys on the table in front of the television, toeing off my shoes and kicking them back beside the doorway. I didn't bother locking my door, letting it swing shut and moving through the lounge and into the decent sized kitchen. I pulled open the door to the fridge, fingering the packets of blood sitting on the top shelf. I decided on some A-positive, pulling it out and shoving it into the microwave.

I detested technology. It was stupid and confusing and unnecessarily difficult to use. All it was good for was a headache. I missed the days of warm fires, horses and carriages, and hand-written letters. There were some inventions I tolerated, however. Such as microwaves, and showers. They all came in handy, made life a little bit easier.

The microwave beeped, and I pulled out my packet of blood, ripping the top off and dropping it in my bin as I passed, settling down on the couch and taking a deep sip of my dinner. I sighed in bliss as the warm blood ran down my burning throat, putting out the fire and causing a sense of calm drip over me. I'd tried pretty much every drug there was, and very few worked on vampires. Since we were technically dead, our bodies didn't process the chemicals the same way, they didn't give us the same high.

_Blood_ , however, that gave us a high no drug would ever be able to give a human.

Our bodies came alive, drinking it was like breaking the surface of the water and taking a breath of fresh, pure air. All my senses became alert. Everything was brighter, louder, sharper, _better._ My body buzzed with energy, the good kind, the kind that I knew would allow me to pick up a car like it weighed nothing. And at the same time, it relaxed me, making all my worries disappear.

And that was just the stuff in the bags. That didn't even come close to how it felt straight from the vein.

I missed it, I craved it so much it hurt. But I had a promise to keep. So, instead of leaving the house to stalk some pathetic little human – or better yet, that irresistible smelling Stiles boy – I discarded the empty blood packet, turning on the radio and curling up into a ball on my couch, trying to enjoy what little high I had left before the crushing boredom once more swallowed me whole.


	3. Reflections

_Pinning paper wings on problems_

_Hoping that they’ll fly away_

_Turn our backs, ignore the truth_

_If they can’t support the weight_

Reflections – We Are The In Crowd

* * *

By some miracle I actually got some sleep that night, but then woke up the next morning honestly not feeling very well. It wasn't possible for vampires to get sick _per se_ , so I shrugged it off. I downed a blood bag, then lit up a cigarette and made my way to school, bag slung carelessly over my shoulder.

By the time I got to the high school, I was already late, but I couldn't find it in me to care. I went about my day like it was any other, going to class, pretending to take notes and pretending to listen as the teachers spoke. By the time the school day was over, I felt even worse than I had when I'd woken up.

Throughout the day I'd managed to pin the feeling down to worry; worry about the hunters in town. Sometimes, it seemed like I would never be free of them.

Of course, it had occurred to me that I could leave. I really could just pack my bag, sell my house and get the hell outta dodge. But I was trying to turn over a new leaf, trying to become a better person. I knew I had to do everything in my power to become the person Myra had wanted me to be – had _believed_ me to be – even if that meant going against my instincts. _Especially_ if it meant that. They'd gotten me in enough trouble over the years as it was.

So, after having had a long and emotionally taxing day as I tossed up my options, I couldn't wait to get home, have a glass of tequila with a chaser of blood, and read a mildly entertaining novel.

Unfortunately, I only got so far as passing the art room before I was stopped by a boy sporting that familiar buzz-cut. He stepped out in front of me, wearing his lacrosse gear with a determined frown on his face that reminded me of a grumpy kitten.

“Yes?” I asked him tiredly, raising an eyebrow as I listened to his heart thud like it was trying to break free of his chest. When he didn't say anything I rolled my eyes, hitching my bag higher up on my shoulder. “Let me guess: Scott told you that he saw me in the woods with Hale last night and since you both need answers, you figured I was the slightly less _intimidating_ one to approach,” I said flatly.

His heart stuttered at my words, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. I flicked a lock of hair out of my face, pinning him with my entrancing green eyes. “But there's one thing you should know before you open your mouth,” I warned him carefully, making sure he understood each and every syllable, enjoying the way the blood disappeared from his face as I shifted closer. “I am much, _much_ more dangerous than Derek Hale could ever dream to be.”

The Stiles boy didn't say a thing, blinking up at me. Meeting his stare, I was suddenly surprised by his eyes. I hadn't noticed before, but his eyes looked like how he smelt; chocolatey and intoxicating.

I covered up my brief falter with a smirk, stepping around him and turning down a hallway, struggling to keep a human pace when all I wanted to do was _run_. I eventually found the door, shoving it open and stepping out into the sunshine. In the span of a second, the pack of cigarettes were pulled out of my bag, and I lit one up, shoving past some guy in a red jersey. I hopped down the steps, striding down the path, meaning to head home. I slid around a form, pausing as I caught a whiff of a familiar scent. Scott.

I glanced curiously over my shoulder as I walked, brow furrowing as I noticed the new teen wolf was stock still, staring at something across the parking lot. I followed his line of sight until I was met with a most unpleasant sight.

Hunter.

He was staring at Scott, not playing the least bit of attention to me – a small blessing. I knew it was him; the same one from last night. My hands clenched into fists but I focused on walking neutrally, not letting anyone notice that something was off. The older man was smiling at the boy, and not in a menacing way. I peered past him, blinking in surprise as I saw Allison – the girl who tried being friends with me – in the car behind him. They were related. That, or she had a thing for older guys.

I took another drag of smoke, watching him from the corner of my eye until I turned the corner, then I was gone, having disappeared from sight.

I'd run to Derek's place in the woods, not wasting any time. He'd said it was burnt down, but I hadn't expected it to be in complete ruins. Everything was black and charred, crumpled into piles of ash and riddled with dead leaves and graffiti.

I'd made no attempt to be quiet, and so the wolf heard me coming, appearing at the top of the rickety old staircase, that perpetual frown on his face.

“Damn, Hale,” I muttered, tentatively sniffing the air. The whole house smelt so strongly of death that it made even _me_ grimace. “You live like this?” I asked wryly, peering around at the remains of what I was sure was once magnificent dwelling. Now it was nothing but a skeleton, a ghost of what it could have been.

“What happened?” he asked instead of answering me. At least he was smart enough to realise this wasn't a social call.

But I couldn't help myself, turning to look at him teasingly. “How do you know I'm not just here for a chat and a good cup of tea?” I fluttered my eyelashes innocently. Derek stomped down the untrustworthy stairs, looking the opposite of amused. “Fine,” I muttered, rolling my eyes in exasperation. “It's the lead hunter, the one from last night?” I reminded him, tilting my chin up so my eyes met with his. “He's Allison Argent's father.”

Derek didn't appear outwardly surprised, but I could tell he hadn't known. He looked like he was considering my words, gaze hardening with whatever it was he was thinking. “Does Scott know?” he finally asked, the words low and serious.

“He just found out,” I told him, and he nodded before turning and striding through his sad excuse for a door. I followed him out, wincing at the sunlight streaming down through the trees surrounding the scorched remains of the property. “Where to, Dog Breath?” I asked as he began stalking west, heading for the town.

“Scott's planning to play lacrosse tonight,” Derek grunted irritably, like he wasn't even sure why he was answering me. I understood – I could sometimes have that effect on people. “I'm going to make sure nobody dies just because he wants to look cool in front of Allison,” he added gruffly.

“So, we're just going to lurk in the shadows like a couple of creepy stalkers?” I asked, head tilted, keeping stride with him easily as I followed him into town.

“I need to be close, in case he loses control,” said Derek.

“He's a new pup,” I scoffed. “Of course he's going to lose control.”

“Which is why I'm going,” he reiterated firmly.

“Sounds fun, Cujo,” I said mockingly, but the taller werewolf gave no more than a huff in reply. His ire turned into surprise when I continued to trail along after him.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, coming to a stop in a small clearing. I paused, spinning gracefully on my toes to look at him.

“Uh, I'm being your backup,” I said blandly, because I'd thought that was obvious.

But Derek looked less than impressed. “I don't need you there,” he said forcefully. “Don't you have better things to be doing?” he added as if to sway me away.

I snorted at the comment. “Fuck, do I wish,” I laughed bitterly, and his expression narrowed into one of consternation. “Look, I'm offering to be a helping hand. Just accept it and move on,” I said, silky smooth and innocent.

“What do you get out of it?” he asked suspiciously.

“The knowledge that the people of this town are safe from supernatural harm,” I told him as solemnly and as earnestly as I could manage. I could tell from the glint to his eyes that he didn't believe me. I gave up and let loose another laugh. “Alright, I'm bored and literally have nothing better to do. I want the free entertainment – so sue me,” I said with a careless shrug.

“The last thing I need is a trigger-happy vampire getting in my way,” he bit back.

Eyebrows raising at his impudence, I took a fraction of a step closer. “So long as you keep your wet nose out of my face, I'd say we'll be just _fine_ staying out of one another's way,” I countered flatly, the words concealing a threat.

Derek's jaw twitched, and he clearly wanted to argue, say something more against me, maybe try and bully me into not coming. But I was stubborn, and once I'd decided on something, no crabby little werewolf was going to change my mind.

“Do try to keep up,” I finished with a light, teasing grin, flashing him a wink before disappearing, leaving him in the dust. I heard his irritated and frustrated grunt as he fought to keep up, but I remained out of his reach. I decided to slow down the closer we got the the school, letting him catch up to me before we both stopped at the tree line to the lacrosse field.

The tension between us was thick, but I liked it. It was more entertaining than sitting at home alone – of that I was certain. I was running out of ways to starve off the boredom, and if playing babysitter to the new pup was going to help, I wasn't going to complain.

The rest of the lacrosse boys were running some kind of drill, but I wasn't interested in them. My eyes were on Scott, whom had just been bowled over by some other kid that stood over him, sneering down at the young wolf.

As if telepathically linked, Derek and I both slowly walked from the forest, closer to the game. We both knew that this would have a negative impact on Scott's mental state, meaning he was more likely than ever to lose control. We kept back from the field, watching them talk amongst themselves as Scott was told to try again. I let my bag slide off my shoulder, setting it on the ground by my feet.

My lips twitched with amusement as Scott ran at the other boy at full force, slamming into him and knocking him flat on his ass. My smile was quickly wiped away however, when I caught sight of his glowing eyes and fangs. I sucked in a sharp breath, watching as Stiles hurried to his friend's side, pulling him out of the sight of the crowd and towards the main building. “Follow them,” Derek growled from beside me.

I wanted to argue – I didn't like being told what to do – but I knew there was logic to his command. It would be suspicious for him to wander into the school for no apparent reason, but not me, I could get in without question, thanks to actually being a student there. I didn't want to play wolf's pawn, but the secrecy of our kind was at stake, so I nodded, ducking my head and trailing after the boys where they'd disappeared inside the building.

The door led through into the boys' locker room, and by the time I reached it, I was glad I'd put aside my ire and come, for Scott was up in the rafters, snarling down at a hyperventilating Stiles, who was backed into a wall, eyes wide in terror.

I appeared between them, holding my hands up placatingly to help calm the new pup down. “Hey mutt!” I yelled up at him, keeping steady and calm so I wouldn't transform myself. The wolf snarled at me, edging closer to the end of the rafter, preparing to launch off and attack. “Okay, I meant _Scott,_ ” I amended through gritted teeth, hands still held up in surrender, to show I wasn't a threat. “Calm down, everything is fine. You don't really want to hurt Stiles, and I'm not looking to hurt you, so why don't you just take a deep, calming breath and change back, okay?” I suggested smoothly.

But it didn't do the trick – apparently he didn't like something about what I'd said, and in a move too quick for human eyes to see, the teen wolf leapt from the rafters. Lips pulling back in a snarl, I slammed out a hand and caught him easily around the throat.

A pained, choking noise came from his mouth before I threw him backwards into a row of lockers. He dinted them where he slammed into the metal, and I pulled myself up to my full height, which was unfortunately several inches smaller than him. I didn't want to have to reveal myself, so I kept my lips pressed shut to conceal my fangs. He roared again, like a wild animal, picking himself off the floor and taking a run at me. I sucked in a deep breath, thanking my lucky stars he still had a helmet on, so there was no chance he could bite me. I dodged out of the way of his arm, sliding to the right and punching him square in the gut.

His hand shot out and he landed a slap across my face, sending me flying back into the wall. I growled deep in my chest, sliding to my feet and walking back towards him, hands clenched and ready to break some bones. Before I got close enough to do any damage, we were both hit with a face-full of the freezing cold spray from a fire extinguisher. We both pulled back, the urge to fight disappearing with the cold. I immediately turned to glower at the culprit, while Scott collapsed onto a bench, peeling off his helmet and letting his head fall into his hands.

“Nice, asshole,” I bit, brushing the thick coating of white powder from my jacket. “This had better not stain,” I added grumpily. Stiles gaped back at me, seemingly lost for words.

“Stiles?” Scott panted, back to being himself once more. “What happened?” he asked in a rasp.

“You tried to kill me,” said Stiles irritatedly, ripping off his lacrosse gloves and throwing them carelessly into the corner. “And you would have succeeded if Juliet hadn't gotten here in time,” he added sharply. I had a feeling that was meant to be some kind of a thank you, and felt uncomfortable, turning to lean against the wall, my arms crossed over my chest and refusing to acknowledge the words. “It's like I told you before, it's the anger. It's your pulse rising. It's a trigger,” said Stiles, patient and grave.

“But that's lacrosse,” Scott replied, a desperate tone to his voice. His fangs and glowing eyes were gone, replaced by the innocent face of a lost, scared little boy. He bowed his head as I watched, keeping my expression carefully schooled, giving nothing away. “It's a pretty violent game if you hadn't noticed,” he added, trying to sound jovial, but just sounding sad.

“Well it's going to be a lot _more_ violent if you end up killing someone on the field,” Stiles responded, and really, the kid had a point. “You can't play on Saturday. You're gonna have to get out of the game.”

I automatically tensed as I noticed Scott's heart rate spike, silently preparing for another fight. “But I'm first line,” he tried to argue, but he already knew the truth.

“Not anymore,” said Stiles firmly, but there was still a tenor of compassion in his voice. He felt for his friend, who suddenly wasn't the boy he'd always known. He was something _else._

Scott dropped his head into his hands again, and I watched him carefully. It would be all too easy for him to fall into another change. In these early stages, everything was so unpredictable, particularly for a pup so young.

“How did you know?” Stiles asked me suddenly, spinning in his place on the bench to pin me with a hard, bewildered stare.

I lifted up a single shoulder in a shrug, letting it drop, suddenly tired. “I saw it happen,” I told him, blinking down into his eyes from where I remained standing. It wasn't the whole truth, but at the same time, it wasn't a lie. “Just thought I'd lend a hand,” I added simply.

“Great,” said the human, voice layered with sarcasm. He stood to his feet, taking a step towards me, eyes narrowed in something like consternation. “So how about you answer a few questions for us?” I frowned at his words, tightening my crossed arms and cocking my head to the right. “That's right, your little _intimidation_ tactic earlier didn't work on me,” he tried to snarl, but it was almost funny on a human, making it hard to take him seriously. “So, you tell me what you know, or I'll––”

“You'll what?” I snapped, allowing a dark, amused smile to spread across my ruby red lips. I took a step forwards, making the young teenager jerk backwards in an effort to keep away from me. Amused, I took another step forwards, then another, until the human was backing up like a child afraid of the boogeyman. “You'll do _what_ , Stiles? Hurt me?” I asked sharply, backing him into the lockers, making him yelp as his back collided with the cold metal. “Don't think that just because I saved your sorry ass _this_ time, that it means I won't tear your throat out with my teeth given the slightest opportunity.”

That threat held a lot more weight if he knew what I truly was, but it scared him just the same, his pupils dilated with fear, a slight sweat breaking out across his brow. My lips twitched up into a wholly satisfied smirk, and I happily backed off turning back towards a wide-eyed Scott.

“But – but I have so many _questions_ ,” he said, not quite a whine, but I wouldn't have faulted him for it. He was begging me, I could see that – but I just wasn't a charity kinda girl.

“Don't we all, kid,” I responded flatly, straightening my jacket and frowning at the white power from the extinguisher still staining it. With a thunderous looked at Stiles, I lifted my hand in a lazy salute, turning to leave the room.

“Please, Juliet,” Scott pleaded, grabbing my arm to stop me from stepping out of the room. I froze, looking down at the warm hand on my arm, marvelling at his nerve.

Ripping my arm from his grasp, telling him in no uncertain terms that touching me wasn't going to be allowed, I scowled and I once more turned to leave. “What if something happens?” it was Stiles that spoke up this time, and I looked over my shoulder at him in irritation.

“Excuse me?” I asked, wondering if that was some kind of pathetic attempt at a threat.

“What if Scott accidentally hurts someone, and we need help – your help? _Supernatural_ help?” he asked bravely, feeling more confident as he spoke the words. “Help from another werewolf, I mean?” he pressed hopefully, and it was obvious now that they were growing desperate.

Although he was wrong about my species, he did have a point. It wouldn't be a bad idea for them to be able to contact me. If things went from bad to worse, I was their best bet at successfully covering up a murder, being the only one with experience doing just that.

I huffed, spinning back around and holding out a hand expectantly. Stiles looked between me and my hand, unsure what to make of it. He hesitantly stepped forwards, reluctantly slipping his hand into mine, then grimacing like the touch of my skin disgusted him.

“Ugh,” I snarled, ripping out of their grasp for the second time in as many minutes. “I meant for you to hand me your phone, dumb-ass,” I snapped at him, clicking my fingers impatiently.

“Oh!” the human blinked, red blotches appearing on his freckled cheeks as he turned around, clumsily cracking open a locker and pulling out a small, modern cell phone. I snatched it from him, frowning as I saw it was a touch screen. I was the clumsy one this time as I awkwardly slid my finger across the screen, trying to unlock it. “You just, uh, you swipe––”

“I've got it,” I hissed, finally succeeding in opening it. Then I stared at the phone with a bothered glare. I'd gotten ahead f myself. I wasn't familiar with his type of phone – I had no idea where to even begin to look for the contacts in it.

With a frustrated growl I handed it back to him, and the human took it cautiously. For his sake, I hoped I was imagining the amusement sparkling deep within his honeycomb eyes. Grumpy, I recited my number, watching as he punched it into the device, then saved and shut it with ease.

“That is for emergencies _only_. Are we clear?” I growled, staring across at the boy, a warning in the curl of my lip and the steel in my eyes.

“Crystal,” Stiles replied, flashing me a smile that melted away under the force of my glare.

“Thank you,” said a voice from my left, and I shifted my gaze over to where Scott stood, smiling at me awkwardly.

“Don't mention it.” I turned sharply on my heel and headed straight for the door, calling out over my shoulder, “I mean it, don't mention it. Ever.”

They mumbled agreements, but I was already through the door and making my way back towards the field, uninterested in anything else they had to say.

* * *

The next day was, by comparison, better. I actually slept, and woke up feeling awake and alert. I skipped breakfast, deciding I'd just feed that night after school instead. However, when I got home that afternoon, I realised I only had one blood bag left. Cursing myself for being so stupid, I dressed inconspicuously and went straight to the hospital.

I'd lived in New York before this, on the Upper West side. There we used taxis to get around, there was no need for me to own a car, so I didn't have one now. I pondered perhaps going down to the dealership and buying something once I'd moved here, or maybe compelling one off of somebody, but for now I could walk. At the very least, it helped me to clear my mind.

I stepped through the automatic doors of the hospital, wrinkling my nose at the smell of death and disinfectant. I walked past the front desk like I belonged there, my head held high. I'd been here enough times to know where the blood bank was, and navigated the halls easily, slipping past doctors and patients alike until I made my way into the small, chilled room.

“Can I help you?” the nurse at a desk against the far wall asked, standing from her seat to greet me, a scowl on her bright pink lips, as though expecting some kind of trouble.

I walked forwards, keeping my eyes locked onto hers and drawing her in. Keeping our eyes locked, I blindly handed over my empty bag. “You're going to fill this with blood bags,” I ordered her without pause.

“I'm going to fill it with blood bags,” she droned monotonously, pupils contracting as she spoke.

“If anyone asks any questions, you'll tell them it was a paperwork mishap and all the bags are accounted for.”

“I'll tell them they're all accounted for,” she repeated, utterly mindless. A smile flickered to life on my lips and I blinked, effectively breaking the connection. She looked down, shaking her head once or twice to steady herself before turning around to complete her task. I watched her carefully, also monitoring the door to make sure nobody entered the room while she was filling the bag.

She finished, shutting the freezer door and moving back over to me, holding out the bag full of blood. “You'll forget I was ever here,” I commanded her as I turned to leave.

I didn't wait to hear her repeat it, simply moving through to the hall and making my way out to the entry. I was just passing the front desk when I got hit in the face with a mouth-watering scent that was quickly becoming familiar (much to my displeasure).

“––I always thought that we had this kinda connection...” I heard his voice say and I paused, glancing over my shoulder to watch the boy flounder as he talked to a pretty girl I vaguely recognised from school. “You know, unspoken, of course...” I smirked, smoothly sliding into a seat around the corner, crossing one leg over the other as I watched the scene before me unfold. Watching this kid make a total fool of himself? Now that was what I called entertainment. “Maybe it would be kind of cool to...get to know each other a little better,” he was still saying hopefully.

“Hold on, give me a second,” the girl's sweet voice said, and I listened to the rustle of her clothes as she moved. “Yeah, I didn't get any of what you just said. Was it worth repeating?” she asked callously.

“Uh – um...ah...no,” he stuttered, exhaling sharply. I bit my lip to smother a laugh. “Sorry. I'm gonna sit...you don't care, okay.”

He sat down heavily in the seat beside me, picking up a magazine and holding it upside-down in front of his face, merely staring at the glossy pages blankly, no doubt wallowing in his misery. “That was brutal,” I smirked, resting my chin on my hand as I watched him. He jumped out of his skin, hand grasping at his heart as it leapt in surprise. I wiggled my fingers at him playfully, enjoying the way that blotchy red blush spread across his mole-speckled face.

“Juliet,” he squeaked, rubbing a hand over his short hair. “Didn't see you there.” He glanced around awkwardly, heart still beating wildly in his chest. “You didn't, by any chance...uh...” he trailed off, not seeming to know how to ask.

“Hear every word of that truly tragic encounter?” I finished for him, a wide, sadistic grin playing at my lips. “'Fraid so.”

Stiles groaned, burying his face in the glossy cover of the magazine he still held, like he longed for the pages to open up and swallow him whole. My cruel grin melted away, replaced by a much more mundane smirk. He seemed to sense my ease, and looked back up at me curiously. “What're you doing at the hospital?”

Even as he asked his eyes drifted to my feet where I'd left my bag. The zip was open just an inch, and the top of a single bag of blood was visible within its depths. I kicked the bag with my boot, knocking it underneath my chair, concealing what I had hidden within. I told myself that he probably hadn't gotten a good look at what was inside, and even if he did, I doubted he was smart enough to draw the right conclusion from it.

“Just visiting,” I told him nonchalantly, deciding to forgo the compulsion this time around. I wouldn't have said I could trust him, but he was willing to keep his friend's condition a secret, so I figured he wasn't about to run off to the hunters to dob me in. Besides, he probably knew I would just kill him if he did. “What're _you_ doing at the hospital?” I asked, head tilted curiously.

“Oh, well you see, Scott and I, we...” he trailed off again, scrambling to finish his excuse.

“Yes?” I prompted with wide, falsely innocent eyes, awaiting his response. I could tell from his hesitation that it was going to be good.

Scott appeared by our side, staring down at us with a crease between his eyebrows. “Finished, Stiles. We can go now,” he said shortly.

It was obvious that neither of them trusted me – fine by me, considering they weren't exactly on my Christmas list either. Besides, I wasn't looking for friends. They were the last thing I needed right now. I could tell Scott wanted to talk to Stiles alone, so I grabbed the strap of my bag, pulling it up onto my shoulder and standing to my feet. I didn't bother saying goodbye, just turned around and left. I knew they were up to something, I could tell by the way Scott's heart was racing and he was shifting his weight from foot to foot in anxiety.

I stopped just outside the doors, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, leaning agains the wall of the large building and listening to their conversation closely, sensitive ears piercing through the thin glass door separating us with ease.

They'd been here looking at the body that had been found, or at least, the half of the body. I cocked my head, listening as they whispered about how they thought Derek was the killer, and how they were going to get him arrested. I considered going straight to Derek to give the guy a heads up, but that wasn't my problem.

Derek wasn't my responsibility. He could handle a few teens sniffing around in his business, and if he couldn't, well then he probably deserved whatever he got.

I heard the two boys walking towards the exit, and I rounded the corner just as they stepped out onto the pavement, whispering about how they had to go to Derek's burned down house that night to dig up the rest of the body.

I rolled my eyes at their narrow-minded thinking, stepping onto the road and crossing over towards the trees that bordered the hospital. There was the loud rumble of an engine, and I turned at the mouth of the forest, glancing over my shoulder in time to see a large, blue Jeep drive past me, Stiles and Scott inside.

Against the odds, Stiles' eyes seemed to find me even in the shadows, and he stared at me as he passed. I was the first to look away, already disinterested as I turned towards the trees, blending into the darkness surrounding me and enjoying my lengthy walk home.

* * *

I was watching some old war documentary on the History Channel when I got the call. I'd just curled up under a pile of blankets on my couch and I had to sit up to reach it, doing so with a scowl. I picked up the old little thing, a Nokia I'd gotten back in 2005. The number calling wasn't programmed into my phone, but I wasn't surprised; very few were. I muted the TV and answered it begrudgingly.

“Juliet!” the worried voice of Stiles yelled through the speaker, and I frowned out of instinct, already regretting answering the call. If this wasn't a real emergency, I was going to key his car first thing in the morning.

“What do _you_ want?” I asked, admittedly quite crabby.

“Scott's missing!” Stiles shouted back at me, in something of a panic.

I paused, frowning at my television uncomprehendingly. Black and white images moved on the screen before me, but they made no sense, my mind somewhere else all together. “What?” I asked Stiles, bewildered by his words.

“Look, long story short, we had some wolfsbane in the car with us and it got to Scott. He flipped out and when I stopped the car he just _legged_ it – into the _forest_! I have no idea where he went.”

I'd gotten hopeful when I thought it might have been some kind of kidnapping – hunting down some bad guys to kill sounded fun – but instead Scott had a wolfsbane-induced panic attack, and just ditched Stiles to walk it off in the woods.

“Get Derek to help you,” I told him, already bored with the conversation, sinking slowly back into my pillows, lifting the remote, prepared to turn the volume back up.

“Ah, yeah...we kind of got him arrested,” Stiles told me, a wince in his voice. I snorted in loud amusement, finding the whole thing objectively hilarious. “Come on,” Stiles snapped, and through the connection I could hear the sound of tires rolling against the road. He was driving. “Will you just help me?”

“No,” I said firmly, already moving to end the call.

“Please, Juliet,” he pleaded over the line, and I paused, lifting the phone back up to my ear. “I'm begging you. Please,” he said, hopeful and sincere.

I ground my teeth together, breathing deeply and counting slowly to five. I didn't _want_ to go traipsing through the woods with a human, looking for some new wolf pup I barely even knew. It wasn't my _problem._ But again, unbidden, that dangerous question floated through my head.

_What would Myra do?_

With an irritated huff, I spat my address over the line and promptly hung up. In the next breath I was in my bedroom, pulling on some jeans and sweater. I yanked a beanie on over my onyx hair, and reluctantly stuffed my feet into a pair of shoes.

I took my time tying the laces, because I'd gotten ready too quickly, and Stiles could only drive so fast. I was just stuffing my phone and cigarettes into my pocket when there was an impatient knock at my door. Then I was in front of it, cracking it open to stare at the human boy, unimpressed and still unhappy to be leaving the house for such a stupid reason.

Stiles paused, not seeming to know what to say. “So, uh, so this is where you live?” he muttered, looking past me and into my house. The lights were off – sometimes I forgot to turn them on at all, since I could see so well in the dark. He couldn't see much of the house, but he still peered around curiously, as though he'd discover all my secrets hidden in the shoe rack by the door.

“Obviously,” I drawled, dry and still utterly unimpressed.

“It's nicer than Derek's place, that's for sure,” he said, trying to make conversation for some reason I couldn't fathom.

Frowning in displeasure, I jerked my head towards his jeep where it sat in my driveway. “Are we going or what?” I asked, and he nodded, leading the way back to his jeep. I opened the passenger door, slipping into the car and cringing when I was enveloped in his mouth-watering scent.

“So, you can track him by scent?” Stiles asked me as he settled into the drivers seat, oblivious to my plight. The car started with a low rumble. “You can do that, right?” he pressed when I didn't answer.

My nose wasn't quite as sharp as a wolf's, but I could manage some basic tracking“Yeah,” I told him with a nod he didn't see. Without asking I rolled down the passenger window, taking a deep breath of the fresh, uncontaminated air. “Take me to where you lost him,” I said, squinting as the wind stung my sensitive eyes. “I'll track him from there.”

He took a sudden sharp turn into a side street, clearly anxious to find his friend before he did something he'd seriously regret. Eventually he pulled up at a seemingly random place in the woods, and I stuck my head out of the open window, sniffing cautiously. I caught the familiar scent of wet dog and Scott's brand of deodorant.

“Okay,” I said, gesturing for Stiles to drive on. He pressed his foot to the accelerator gently, moving the jeep forwards inch by inch. We continued along the path for a few minutes, until suddenly I lost the scent. “Stop,” I commanded, barely waiting for the vehicle to come to a complete stop before cracking open the door and sliding out. I moved deeper into the woods, but not so far that Stiles couldn't see me. I paused, pressing my hand to a tree trunk that smelt faintly of werewolf. “He went up into the trees, I think,” I called back to Stiles, who'd clamoured out of the car, waiting by the road side as he watched me, shifting his weight anxiously from foot to foot. “I can't track him like this.”

The boy deflated, shoulders slumping in disappointment.

I pursed my lips, feeling like the right thing to do was console him, offer him some form of comfort. He blinked and I was standing in front of him. He jumped, startled by my sudden appearance. I lifted my hand, moving touch his shoulder but deciding at the last moment it was too awkward. “Uh, don't worry?” I said, though it sounded more like a question than a reassurance. I wasn't good at this sorta stuff. I never had been. “It's not a full moon, so he's probably not going to hurt anyone. He should still be in control,” I added quickly.

He nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against the front of his car, staring out into the foggy woods. “More than anything I'm just worried about how he'd be able to live with himself if anybody _did_ get hurt.”

At one point, I wouldn't have understood that kind of logic. What did it matter if anybody got hurt? I'd spent centuries ruthlessly killing my way across America – and any other country that took my fancy – without a shred of guilt. It had been an indulgent sort of lifestyle, one that allowed for freedom and fun in a way humans would never understand.

However, now that I'd flipped my humanity switch – as it were – I supposed I could see what he meant. Loss of life could be tragic, in some ways. To be the cause of it was a large burden to carry, of that I was certain.

I wasn't too sure whether werewolves had the same humanity switch as us vampires did. Wouldn't everything be so much easier if they did?

I crossed my arms, mirroring Stiles' stance and turning my gaze to the lingering fog that draped the forest floor like a glowing, ethereal sea. “Maybe he just needs time?” I suggested, still a little awkward, but mostly just pensive. “The change can be overwhelming. He'll show up soon,” I added, distracted by the flow of my own train of thought.

“Did this happen to you?” Stiles asked, glancing over at me from under his lashes, as though sheepish to be asking at all. “Back when you were bitten?”

If there was ever a time to come clean, it was now. But the truth of the matter was, I just wasn't an honest enough person.

I pulled out the oldest trick in the book and changed the subject. “Come on,” I said, pushing myself off of his car and moving back around to the passenger seat, peeking up at the darkening sky. “It's getting late,” I added, glancing over at the trees, thinking briefly that the human wasn't safe out in these woods – who knew what kind of terrors were out there, waiting, watching?

Then again, I was overlooking the biggest threat of all; the one sitting right beside him in his jeep.

“Right,” Stiles muttered, walking around and sliding back into the driver's seat. The ride back towards town was silent, each of us lost our own swirling seas of thought.

* * *

I wandered onto the field the next day, cigarette in one hand, phone in my other as I made my way to the stands. I hadn't been planning on coming to the game – I didn't care for lacrosse as a rule – but an urgent text from Stiles made me reconsider.

_Found Scott. We're at the school. He's definitely playing. May need your help._

I took a long drag from my cigarette and reluctantly took a seat on the stands. I wished, not for the first time, that I hadn't chosen this town to stay in. Things were so much easier back in New York. But then again, I hadn't had a soul back then, which made _everything_ so much easier.

I wondered, yet again, why the human boy was suddenly leaning on and trusting _me_ of all people? In his mind I was associated with Derek Hale, but he didn't trust the wolf as far as he could throw him. So what was different about me? The logic behind it baffled me, and I scowled to myself in confusion.

The lacrosse team slowly made their way onto the field, and I flicked the ash off the end of my smoke, watching them closely as the game began. Stiles plopped himself down on the bench, then looked over his shoulder, eyes scanning the crowd. I wondered who he was looking for, then was surprised when his eyes caught mine and lit up with relief.

I frowned, I didn't want the boy to get _attached_ to me. It would only lead to heartache on his end when I inevitably either killed him or left town. Either way, if I continued to give him any kind of hope for a friendship between us … well leading him on was just as cruel as hurting him outright, wasn't it? So I didn't respond to his smile, simply letting my eyes slide past him like I hadn't even noticed he were there.

I watched the game disinterestedly, spending most of it just monitoring Scott's heart rate. It rose with all the running he was doing, but not high enough to cause me worry. I wondered what I'd do if he turned right here on the field. I'd probably just fake a seizure or something to give Stiles a chance to get him to the safety of the tree line.

All in all, the course of the game was pretty boring. The home team was losing by two and Scott had yet to catch a single ball. I was getting plenty of dirty looks for not cheering when our team miraculously got a goal, but I couldn't have possibly cared less.

I looked down at my phone, barely paying attention to the game when suddenly a cheer spread through the crowd. I glanced up, blinking at the field in surprise as I watched Scott dart out of the path of the opposing team, dodging their advances and sprinting to the other end of the field, aiming and shooting, the ball sailing from the crosse and into the net. I pursed my lips, focusing my full concentration on the game. From there things only got worse, from my perspective, at least.

It seemed like Scott was keeping things under control, at least that was until he turned towards the crowd and I caught a glimpse of his glowing amber eyes. I stood abruptly, walking through the cheering crowd until I made it to the bottom of the stands.

I stormed over to Stiles, forgetting that I was supposed to be ignoring him. “What the hell is he doing?” I asked, and he jumped violently when he noticed I was sitting on the bench beside him, not having heard me approach.

“Uh, winning us the game?” the boy replied once his heart had calmed down.

“You realise there's a _hunter_ in the crowd,” I hissed back, keeping my posture casual and relaxed, the last thing I wanted to was alert anybody that something was wrong. We both glanced to the field, pausing our conversation as we noticed Scott freeze, glancing around wildly.

Stiles jumped to his feet. “No, no, no,” he muttered, grabbing his head worriedly. Everything stopped as we watched, waiting to see what he'd do. With one mighty swing of his arm he brought his crosse back, throwing the ball directly into the net. “Yeah!” Stiles screamed in triumph as the horn sounded, signalling the end of the game. I continued to keep an eye on the boy as the crowd poured down from the stands to congratulate the team. “Whoo!” Stiles yelled again, throwing his arms into the air. Some of the teammates ran towards him, clapping him on the back before moving on to celebrate with the next person.

Somebody's arms wrapped around me and I looked over my shoulder at the player in a red jersey. I scowled and shoved the stranger off of me, wiping the sweat he'd transferred to my hands off on my jeans with a low grunt of annoyance.

Soon enough the stands were clear of people, and I stood to leave. As I made my way off the field, I caught a snatch of a conversation between the sheriff and somebody on the other end of his call. I paused by the tree line as Stiles' father was told about Derek Hale's release. He hung up the phone with a heavy sigh, moving over to his son and mumbling what he'd found out. Stiles stepped back with wide eyes and his head shot to the direction I'd walked off in. It was impossible for him to see me in the dark, but I felt as though he met my eyes, heart pounding wildly in his chest as he turned and darted back towards the locker rooms where I knew he would be telling Scott what he'd heard.

“How was your time in the slammer?” I asked aloud, fishing a cigarette from my bag and lighting it up, resting my weight against a thick tree trunk and not bothering to glance over my shoulder at the wolf whom had padded up behind me. “Get any prison tattoos?” I added in a sneer.

“You could have gotten me out,” he grumbled back sourly, stopping beside me and staring out at the crowd of people slowly leaving the field. I could sense the weight of his concern, and knew this whole situation was probably worse than I even knew.

“I didn't care enough to try,” I told him honestly, lifting one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. I felt more than saw Derek scowl, and the usual smirk appeared on my lips as I turned to leave. “You'd better get rid of the evidence Scott left behind,” I told him, gesturing to the glove laying on the now-empty field. He didn't respond, but I didn't care. I turned, striding off into darkness like I were a hero and it were the sunset.

This was where I belonged; alone in the shadows, where it was easy to keep from hurting anyone. Where it was easy to keep my promise to Myra.


	4. Something's Gotta Give

_Wake me up_

_Say enough is enough_

_I'm dying to live_

_Something's gotta give_

_Pull me out_

_Of this sinking town_

_I'm dying to live_

_Something's gotta give_

Something's Gotta Give – All Time Low

* * *

Things were normal the next day. Being the weekend, I spent it at home, lounging around indulging in alcohol and blood, watching shitty TV and listening to old jazz records. It was a bummer when Monday came back around, but I knew my little slice of isolation couldn't last forever.

Walking into school that morning, I definitely hadn't been expecting to see one of the school's buses with its back door ripped completely open, blood covering the tacky yellow paint like street art covered the downtown walls. I couldn't get too close without arousing suspicion, but I knew I'd have to look into it. I figured Stiles would probably know something about it, what with having the sheriff as his father and all.

I made my way to class as usual, stepping through the door to chemistry, taught by class-a douche-bag – Mr Harris. I strode past him without so much as a blink of acknowledgement. I moved down the aisles between the tables and slouched into my seat at the back of the class. I shared this period with Scott and Stiles, and while I could usually tune them out, this particular time I couldn't help but listen in on their hushed conversation.

“Maybe it was _my_ blood on the door,” Scott muttered to his best friend anxiously, twisting a pen in his hands.

“Could have been animal blood,” Stiles suggested optimistically. “You know, maybe you caught a rabbit or something?”

“And did what?” Scott asked and I tucked a piece of my raven hair behind my ear, turning so I could hear them slightly better.

“Ate it,” said Stiles slowly, like his friend was an idiot.

“Raw?” the young werewolf gasped, as though horrified at the thought. I smirked at his innocence.

“No, you stopped to bake it in a little werewolf oven,” drawled Stiles with the utmost sarcasm. A laugh bubbled up from my chest, spilling out of my lips before I could do anything to stop it. The sound was louder than I had anticipated, making the whole class, teacher included, turn to look at me. I clicked my tongue awkwardly, then cleared my throat and turned to stare at the board resolutely, acting like nothing had happened. I caught a glimpse of Stiles grinning in my peripheral vision and pressed my lips together firmly.

“Mr Stilinski, if that's your idea of a hushed whisper then you might want to pull the headphones out every once in a while. I think you and Mr McCall would benefit from a little distance.”

“No,” Stiles argued, only to be shut down by our dragon of a teacher immediately.

“Let me know if the separation anxiety gets to be too much,” he drawled, pointing at them to move to opposite sides of the room. They sighed, picking up their things and walking over to their new desks. Scott wandered up to the front of the room, while Stiles moved back towards me. I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping he wouldn't chose the spare seat beside me.

Unfortunately, I wasn't a very lucky vampire.

“Hey partner!” Stiles chirped as he slid into the seat next to me, dropping his things on the table in front of him. I blinked back at him impassively, deciding it best not to respond. I turned back to the page in front of me, picking my pen up and going back to my idle drawing. “Wow,” he breathed, scooting his chair closer to mine and bending his neck to look at my work. “That's amazing. Have you had art lessons?”

_Yeah, a hundred and fifty years ago._

I kept my mouth shut, studiously ignoring him as I continued to sketch the mane of a mighty lion. “Do you think you could draw me?” he asked loudly, leaning so far over in his seat that he nearly toppled over, and would have fallen flat on his face if I hadn't shot out an arm to steady him.

“Mr Stilinski,” Mr Harris sighed loudly, as though Stiles were shaving weeks off his lifespan with every unnecessary comment made, turning back around the face the class and crossing his arms. His beady little eyes narrowed in on Stiles, whose cheeks flushed a tantalising red. “Do I need to move you _again_?”

“No sir,” Stiles responded, ducking his head and focusing his attention on the textbook in front of him.

A minute of tense silence past, then some girl with a fake tan in the front row was shouting, “hey! I think they found something!”

Everyone leapt from their seats and ran over to the windows, peering out of the glass curiously. I rolled my eyes, propping my feet up on Stiles' vacated chair and continuing my sketching.

“That's not a rabbit,” Scott muttered worriedly. I wasn't concerned, chances were it was the alpha that had made such a mess, not Scott. Even if the boy was a werewolf, he was new at it and barely knew his head from his ass. I knew I could take him in a fight, no question, so I didn't let it bother me. If I needed to know, I'd find out from one of the deputies later on. For now I just needed to focus on getting the tail of my lion just right.

Whatever they saw scared them, because everyone in the group jumped back, letting pathetic little screams out of their pathetic little mouths. I didn't so much as flinch, rolling my eyes and ignoring everything they were muttering about, focusing my hearing on Scott and Stiles, who'd broken away from the group and were mumbling between themselves in a corner. “So this is good. He's not dead! Dead guys can't do that.”

“Stiles,” Scott breathed, staring out the window with a stricken look on his face. “ _I_ did that.”

Interesting. The boy seemed to be under the impression he was the one to do it. And by the furtive glance Stiles shot me, I knew they were going to come to me, expecting answers.

They took longer than I anticipated to corner me, taking seats at the empty lunch table I'd scored myself, glaring away anyone who tried to take the seat opposite me. Scott slid into the spot in front of me and Stiles appeared beside me, placing his tray on the table with a rattling _thud._

“What?” I asked flatly, despite already knowing what they were going to say.

“Scott seems to be under the impression he was the one to attack that guy on the bus last night, because he had a dream that something like it happened to him. Can you tell him he's wrong please?” Stiles said in one long breath, turning in his seat to face me fully, eyes wide and pleading.

I tapped my hands on the empty metal table in front of me, not having bothered to keep up with the charade of eating food. “How the hell should I know?” I asked rudely, frowning at the pair of boys in displeasure.

“Um, because you're _also_ a werewolf?!” Stiles very nearly yelled the words, and a group of seniors at a table over spun around to stare at us as if we were part of a travelling freak-show.

I cringed, crossing my arms and glancing over at Stiles with a disapproving scowl. “Say it louder, why don't you?” I drawled through gritted teeth. “I don't think they heard you over in _Connecticut._ ”

He pressed his lips together like he were holding back a retort and I rolled my eyes in sheer exasperation, starting to think maybe Harris was onto something about Stiles shortening his lifespan.

“Look, is there anything I can do?” Scott asked from across from me, and I broke my stare at Stiles to look at him flatly. “Something to help me remember what happened?” he added hopefully.

I was old – older than these children could even grasp – but I was a _vampire._ The amount I knew about werewolf lore was sketchy at best. In the supernatural underworld, our two species were famous for _not_ getting along. We didn't make it a habit to study one another's biology; not if we could help it.

But he was staring at me with those big, puppy-dog eyes; so lost, so alone in this new, terrifying world that he'd been dragged unwillingly into, and I knew that I couldn't just ignore him completely. I had to throw him a bone – pun absolutely intended.

“You want my advice?” I asked, cocking my head.

“Yes!” he cried, desperate.

“Talk to Derek Hale.”

Neither of them liked this answer very much, both of them giving loud groans of annoyance. “Could you, just for once in your life, actually be helpful to someone other than yourself?” asked Stiles in a tired voice, as though I were being incredibly taxing.

I clenched my jaw in an effort to keep from flashing him my fangs, and it was silent for a moment as Stiles cracked open his yogurt and Scott bit into an apple. “You're not hungry?” Stiles asked after he'd swallowed a mouthful, gesturing to the empty table in front of me.

“Why?” I asked, unable to stop that smirk that spread across my lips this time. “You offering?”

His face twisted into a confused frown but before he could comment, a somewhat-familiar red-headed girl slammed her tray onto the surface of the table, plopping confidently into the seat beside Scott. People began to flood the table, and I scowled, scooping up my bag and sliding from my seat, letting a good looking younger boy take it, moving over to the doors and stepping out into the sun before Stiles had even noticed I'd gone.

* * *

I wasn't expecting anyone to knock at my door at nine o'clock that night. I thought nobody even knew I lived there, except for Stiles. But as I opened the door, I regrettably remembered the only other person I'd given my address to.

“Derek,” I greeted him amicably, leaning in the doorway and watching as he shoved his hands into his pockets, a scowl on his lips.

“We've got to go question the driver who was attacked,” he told me in an utter dead-pan, his expression not even twitching. He turned away, moving down my porch steps and making his way back towards his car, which was parked out front of the house. It was a solid a beat before he realised I wasn't following him, turning around to stare at me exasperatedly. “What are you doing?” he asked in annoyance, still scowling at me through the darkness.

“Waiting for you to grow some manners,” I responded tightly, crossing my arms and returning his stare with an obstinate one of my own.

He blinked at me, eyes narrowing. “You want me to say _please_?” he asked, the look in his eyes telling me he was beginning to regret showing up at all.

“Yes,” I said, maddeningly stubborn.

The werewolf huffed, tipping back his head so his face was turned to the sky and closing his eyes as though he were praying for patience. “Please come with me to question the driver,” he muttered reluctantly, voice so quiet I wouldn't have heard it if I weren't a vampire.

I grinned with false brightness, reaching my hand inside my door to pull my old Harvard hoodie from where it hung on the back of the door handle. I wasn't cold, but I knew it was meant to be a cold night, and walking around without a jacket on would look suspicious. I shrugged it on over my t-shirt and closed the door, shoving my hands in the pocket at the front and meeting Derek at his car.

He started the engine, and it gave a low purr before he pulled out onto the road, the ride nearly silent. “Why come to me at all?” I asked, an understandable question. “I'm sure you can handle a simple interview without a big, strong girl like me there holding your hand the whole time,” I finished with a derogatory pout.

Derek's hands tightened on the steering wheel, but he otherwise didn't react. “Things will go a lot smoother if you just do that mind control...thing that your kind can do,” he said with a curl of his lip, telling me exactly what he thought of my little talent.

“Oh, so you can think it's disgusting and immoral all you like, until you actually _need_ it for something, right?” I bit back at him irritably. “Typical wolf,” I spat, focusing the power of my glare out the window, where it was swallowed up by the passing houses of quiet, sleepy suburbia.

Derek's pulse stuttered with anger, but he had a tight control, getting it back down to its usual pace within moments, and I was content to pretend it hadn't happened.

The car began to slow down, and I sat up, knowing we hadn't reached the hospital yet. “Why're we stopping?” I asked tightly, muscles coiled in preparation for a fight.

“Because cars need fuel,” grunted Derek as he turned off the engine, and I realised we were stopped at a gas station. I relaxed minutely, slowly letting my tense muscles uncoil.

Derek slid out of the car, moving to the back of the car to pump the gas.

I leaned forwards in my seat, messing idly with his radio. I didn't know how it worked, and all the buttons looked the same, and while I tried not to break it accidentally, I also held the opinion that, if I did, it certainly wouldn't be anything for me to cry over.

There was the low grumble of another engine, and I looked up from where I was struggling to change the radio station to see a large, hulking blue car pull into the gas station opposite me. I frowned at the vehicle, the expression deepening when I heard the sound of tyres on gravel from behind me too. I knew immediately that we were surrounded.

At first I assumed they were probably part of a gang that Derek owed money to or something – he sure _seemed_ like the type to get in over his head in gambling debt – but my stomach swooped in unmistakeable panic when the hunter – _Allison's father_ – from the other night slid out of the car. Derek looked between the older male hunter and the ones getting out of the other car, slowly and deliberately putting away the gas pump.

I cracked open the passenger side door, setting my sneakers on the hard, gravel-coated ground and slipping from the car. I shut the door quietly behind me and my eyes flickered between each of the hunters boxing us in. My fists clenched in anticipation of a fight, nails biting into my own skin.

“Nice ride,” Argent said with a smug sort of a smirk, stepping closer to Derek's sleek black car. “Black cars though, very hard to keep clean.” He slowly ran his hand up the side of the car as he strolled closer to the bristling wolf. “I would definitely suggest a little more maintenance. You have something this nice, you wanna take care of it, right? Personally, I'm very protective of the things I love.” I watched with crossed arms as he picked up the window washer from the bucket, running the wet side over the glass of the windshield. “That's something I learned from my family, and you don't have much of that these days. Do you?”

I heard Derek growl under his breath, his body tensing as he prepared for a fight. “Derek,” I said tightly, a warning. All of their eyes snapped to me, and I winced internally. Externally, however, I was expressionless, stony faced with my chin held high.

“Juliet Cooper, right?” Argent said, that ugly, smug little smirk on his face boasting that he knew my name. He paused the cleaning job he was undertaking to look at me fully, blue eyes scanning the length of my body, but not in a sexual way. He was looking at me like a hunter watched their prey, looking for weaknesses. I didn't intend to show him mine. “I haven't heard much about you yet,” he said, the words a threat. “But I'm sure you can understand what I'm talking about.”

My gums tingled, and I was just _itching_ to flash my fangs, but I swallowed the urge. As far as I knew they were operating under the assumption that I was a werewolf, which for me, was definitely a good thing.

“There you go, then,” he smiled when I nodded, dropping the window washer into the bucket and dusting off his hands. “You can actually look through your windshield now. Doesn't that make everything so much clearer?”

The egomaniacal hunter turned to leave and I felt anger swell up within me. Who gave him the _right_? I couldn't care less about Derek on a personal level, but we were part of the same club, if you would, and I sure as hell wasn't about to let this guy threaten a members of _my_ club while I was standing right there.

But Derek could take care of himself. “Forgot to check the oil,” he said, tone dripping with condescension.

I smirked wickedly, fingers just itching to _play._ “And the tyres,” I added sweetly.

Argent paused, his whole body seeming to freeze, but when he turned back around it was with a smirk set onto his face like concrete. “Check the man's oil and tyres,” he said lightly.

A man from behind us moved forwards and without warning slammed the butt of his gun into the window, smashing it to pieces. I didn't flinch, I never flinched. I just stared back at him, wishing I could justify snapping his worthless little neck. It would be so easy – my mouth began to water as I imagined the beautiful sound the bone would make as it cracked in two. “Looks good to me,” said the goon with a smug little smile that I desperately wanted to punch off.

“Drive safely,” said Argent in a saccharine kind of voice.

The humans all slid back into their cars and left us there, alone. Derek growled, loudly this time, the sound reverberating around us as he slammed his hand against the back of his car so hard I was surprised it didn't dent.

“Where the _fuck_ do they get off?” he snarled, the words dripping with loathing. I wasn't very good at handling people's emotions, and I certainly wasn't going to coddle the wolf after that display, so I merely shrugged and cracked open his passenger side door, leaning over to brush off the glass off the seat. It rained onto the ground with a thousand tiny little _pings_.

“Go pay for your gas,” I told him, barely wincing as the a shard of the glass cut into the palm of my hand.

Derek muttered some delightfully colourful profanities under his breath as he turned on his heel and stalked into the gas station. I finally got the majority of the glass off the seat, turning my hands palm-up so I could stare at my bloody hands. Slowly but surely the cuts healed themselves, although it still left blood smeared on my pale skin. I wiped it off on my dark jeans, jumping back into my seat and kicking my feet up onto the dash, waiting for Derek to come back out.

“No,” he dead-panned when he reappeared, sliding back into his car, looking more calm than he had been when he's left. “Feet off my dash,” he barked, and I pouted.

“Killjoy,” I muttered even as I obeyed, sliding my feet down and crossing my legs. The rest of the ride to the hospital was made in silence, Derek trying very hard to control his simmering rage and myself ignoring Derek's simmering rage to the best of my ability.

By the time we got to the hospital I was already wishing I'd stayed home, but I knew it was important we did this. I needed to find out who the alpha was and kill him if I ever wanted some peace and quiet in this fucking, godforsaken town. We strolled passed the main desk like we owned the place, not making eye contact with anyone as we slipped into the victim's room.

We paused in the doorway, eyeing the man who lay in the bed, broken and bruised, struggling to recover from the attack.

“Quickly,” Derek urged me, turning to keep watch by the door.

I crept towards where the bloodied man lay in the bed, his eyes clenched tightly shut. I stared at him, letting my voice fall flat as my power of persuasion did its magic. “Open your eyes,” I commanded him tonelessly.

His eyes snapped open and he stared unseeingly up at the ceiling, my puppet to control.

“What do you remember?” I asked him in a croon, but instead of answering, his eyes slid past me to where Derek stood at the door.

“Hale,” he wheezed suddenly, staring at Derek with horror in his reddened eyes.

“How do you know me?” the beta demanded, abandoning the door and surging forwards to stare down at the injured man properly.

“I'm sorry,” he spluttered, like it pained him to talk. “I'm sorry.”

I frowned, leaning back over his face to make our eyes meet. Some people could resist if we tried to control them from a distance, like over the phone. Once they looked in our eyes, however, there was no chance except vervain, but that stuff wasn't easy to come by, these days.

“What do you remember?” I asked him slowly, watching his pupils dilate and contract rapidly.

“Red eyes,” he breathed, heart racing in his chest. “Bright red eyes. And blood. So much blood,” he cried, red eyes flooding with overwhelmed tears.

“What else?” I pressed, catching his eyes again drawing him even deeper under my spell.

“He–he,” the man stuttered, then a wheezing, choking noise came from his throat, his pupils shrunk to pinpricks and he began to seize. I knew then that there was nothing more we'd be able to glean from his broken, battered mind.

“We need to get out of here,” I hissed at the werewolf beside me, spinning on my heel and grabbing him roughly by the collar of his jacket when he didn't immediately move. “ _Now._ ”

We were gone before anyone could see us, escaping out into the night, no remorse in our hearts, only anger at the alpha that caused all of this. We slipped back into his car, and within moments we were back out on the main road, travelling further and further away from the hospital and the only lead we'd had on the alpha's identity.

“They don't know you're a vampire,” Derek eventually said, breaking the tense silence that had filled his car, each of us lost in our own tornados of thought. “They think you're a werewolf.”

I looked over at him, and knew he was referring to the hunters we'd encountered on our way to the hospital. “I know,” I said curtly, trying not to think of all the ways he could use this knowledge against me.

“It gives us an advantage, however slight,” he said, much to my surprise. I slouched in my seat, casting him a thoughtful glance.

“I suppose,” I allowed, turning my eyes back to the hidden moon, its glow just barely breaching the clouds that were holding it hostage. “At least if they come after me with wolfsbane, I'll be okay.”

“And _that's_ the most important thing,” he spat as though I were the most selfish creature on earth, and I utterly disgusted him. To his credit, I wasn't about to deny it. “We have to find this thing,” Derek said after a long moment as we came to a stop outside my house. It stood tall and silent in the night, and as I stared at it I realised that it was _lonely._ I didn't want to go back in there was just be alone again – but at the same time, hanging out with Derek in his car for any longer wasn't exactly a sparkling alternative.

His wording suddenly caught my attention. “Since when is it _we_?” I asked hotly. I did _not_ like the idea of teaming up with the werewolves in this town any more than I already had. Already I wanted to shoot myself in the brain just to get a few minutes to myself.

“Since it killed that man,” insisted Derek with a note of passion to his voice that surprised me. He turned to look at me, green eyes piercing in the shadows of his car. “Since we know it'll kill again.”

“I'm a vampire,” I reminded him shortly. “What do _I_ care if more people die?”

“If that were true, you wouldn't be helping me in the first place,” he told me, blunt and absolutely onto something.

I pursed my lips, deciding not to snap back at him and instead opening the car door, swinging around until my feet hit the road. “Contact me if you find anything,” I muttered over my shoulder, sliding out of his car and slamming the door shut behind me.

I stormed my way up the path to my porch, a stray cat on my lawn hissing at me and scurrying away. Once I was safely inside the house, I toed off my shoes and slipped off my hoodie, making my way up the stairs and turning up my favourite jazz record so loud that it drowned out my own thoughts.

That way I didn't have to listen to the voice in my head telling me that an empty, lonely home wasn't really a _home_ at all.


	5. Death Valley

_I wanna see your animal side_

_Let it all out_

_Oh there you go; undress to impress_

_You can wear the crown but you’re no princess_

Death Valley – Fall Out Boy

* * *

“Juliet.”

I looked up from the textbook I was doodling in, frowning as I thought I'd heard somebody grunt out my name. I scanned the room, but nobody in my french class was paying any attention to me.

“Juliet.”

No, it was definitely coming from _outside_ the classroom. In fact, it sounded kind of like...Derek?

“Juliet.”

I slammed my textbook shut, slipping it into my bag and standing smoothly from my seat. “Where do you think you're going?” the teacher barked, a stern scowl on her orange painted mouth. Strange colour to wear on her lips – but I could hardly keep up with the fads these days, they were too many, too confusing.

I glanced up lazily, catching her stare and holding it. “I'm leaving,” I told her. She blinked a few times, shaking her head as if to clear it before nodding at me in agreement, giving a vague wave at the door as if to encourage me forwards.

I stepped out into the hallway, glancing left and right for any sign of Derek, but the corridor was empty, no sign of the annoying wolf beginning to become something of a thorn in my side.

“Juliet.”

It was coming from a floor down. I walked to the stairs at a human pace, jumping down them as quickly as I could without looking suspicious before searching for the werewolf again. I took a breath in, my body freezing when I smelt blood. Luckily for him, he had werewolf blood; practically repulsive to my kind. It could sustain us in a pinch, but it was unappetising as all hell, and made us feel sick to boot.

I let the scent act as a sort of beacon, allowing it to pull me through the school towards the source. I rounded a corner and ran straight into a pale, sickly looking Derek Hale.

“Well, well, don't you look like death warmed up,” I piped callously, raising an eyebrow as I watched him lean against the lockers for support, eyes flicking to the blood dripping down his arm onto the linoleum floor, creating a trail that led right back to him. His skin was pallid and waxen, covered in a light sheen of sweat. I grimaced at the tangy scent of it in the air.

“Yeah?” Derek breathed, eyes narrowing in a halfhearted glare. “Well you actually _are_ death warmed up,” he retorted, but the sound was weak, holding none of its usual flare.

Rolling my eyes, I didn't bother to comment. “What happened to you?” I demanded, thinking that that probably should have been my first question.

“I was shot,” he told me around a cough.

“Not wolfsbane,” I said grimly, hoping I was wrong. Derek winced, squeezing his yes shut tight against a wave of pain, and I knew I'd unfortunately been right. “Welp, it's been nice knowing you, Hale,” I said in a brisk farewell. I wasn't good with goodbyes.

Derek let out a low growl, and I froze. Again, those words followed me like a curse...

_What would Myra do?_

I sighed, deep and full of an ancient exhaustion. “What do you need?” I groaned reluctantly, like a child being told to share their toys.

“Get me … to Scott,” he wheezed. “Need him to … get antidote…”

Before he could finish his sentence, the school bell rang, and the wolf cowered against the wall, hands pressed to his head like the sound caused him agony.

All at once students began to flood the hallway and despite how much it disgusted me to touch him, I slid up beside him, wrapping my arm around his waist and heaving the majority of his weight onto me. He seemed relieved by the help, letting me practically carry him down the hallway.

“Let's get you out of sight before one of these kids spots your trail of blood,” I muttered, letting his feet drag along the ground so he at least _appeared_ to be walking himself.

I pulled him out of the school, down the front steps and out onto the footpath, ignoring the way the sunshine sent daggers of pain through my head. There was no way I was going to be able to get him to the tree line before somebody noticed us. I was just beginning to grow concerned when I caught sight of a familiar buzzed head of hair sitting in the front seat of an equally familiar blue jeep.

“Come on,” I mumbled to Derek, pulling him out onto the road in front of the human boy's car.

Stiles slammed the breaks on, but not fast enough and his car slammed into my side. I grunted as I felt my ribs give way, cracking under the impact. Without thinking I let go of Derek, and he tumbled lifelessly to the ground.

I hissed in pain, grasping my injured side. Stiles leapt from his Jeep, rushing around to stare at us like we belonged in the nuthouse. “What the hell?” he asked shrilly, throwing his hands up in the air. He glanced down at his jeep, eyes widening as he noticed the dint in the front bumper. “You dented my Jeep!” he cried like I'd murdered his first born.

“You broke my ribs!” I snapped back, clutching my aching side. I felt a familiar heat spread across my middle, the one that I'd come to associate with my body's healing process. I groaned as my ribs clicked one-by-one back into place, then glanced down at a barely-conscious Derek. Other cars began to back up behind Stiles' jeep, beeping at us in human impatience.

“What are you doing here?” Scott asked in a hushed voice, appearing beside Derek, bag slung over his shoulder.

“I was shot,” he puffed in reply, holding his arm gingerly to his side.

“He's not looking so good, dude,” Stiles spoke up, wincing as he took in the blackened blood trailing down his arm.

“Why aren't you healing?” Scott demanded.

“I can't,” Derek coughed. “It was, it was a different kind of bullet.”

“What? A silver bullet?” asked Stiles with wide eyes.

I snorted loudly while Derek shot the human the most exasperated look I'd ever seen in my life. “No, you idiot,” he growled, glowering at the boy from his place on the ground.

“Wait, that's what she meant when she said you had forty-eight hours,” said Scott in something of a eureka moment.

“What?” Derek grimaced. “Who said forty-eight hours?”

“The one who shot you,” Scott responded innocently. The older wolf's eyes began to glow a bright blue, and I leant further over him, blocking his face from view of the small crowd this display had garnered. “What are you doing? Stop that,” said Scott in a hiss.

“He _can't_ , genius,” I growled back. This was serious; we were getting dangerously close to exposure. “Now would you tow stop lollygagging about and help me get him into the goddamn car?”

“Lollygagging,” Stiles muttered to Scott in something like disbelief. “Who _says_ that?”

But his friend wasn't even close to paying him any attention. “Derek, _get up_ ,” Scott was commanding Derek as strongly as he could, which wasn't very. He huffed, jumping to his feet and moving around so he could get a better grip on the older wolf. “Help me put him in your car,” he ordered Stiles briskly.

Stiles looked like he wanted to argue, but I cut him off with a glare, reaching over to pull Derek to his feet in one scoop of my arm. I couldn't carry him myself – I was physically quite small, and it would make people suspicious. Instead Scott led him around to the passenger side and secured him in the seat. The person sitting behind Stiles blared their horn for the hundredth time and I flipped them off irritably, cracking open the back door and sliding inside without asking permission.

“I need you to find out what kinda bullet they used,” Derek mumbled to Scott while Stiles hurried to climb into the drivers seat.

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Scott asked, shrill with panic.

“She's an Argent. She's with them,” the older beta panted.

“Why should I help you?”

“Because you _need_ me.”

Scott sighed, accepting defeat. “Fine, I'll try,” he said slowly, running a hand over his face as if already exhausted, before glancing back at the banked up cars behind the jeep. “Get him out of here.”

“I hate you for this so much,” Stiles grumbled, putting the car into gear and finally moving down the road. “I can't believe this is happening,” he muttered to himself, pulling out onto the main road and glancing at me in his rearview mirror. I wiggled my fingers at him and he exhaled sharply, turning his eyes back to the road. We drove in silence for a few minutes before Stiles took one hand off the wheel to dig in his pocket, pulling out a cell phone and handing it over to me. “Can you do something useful and text Scott, see where he is with finding the bullet?”

I bit my lip, looking down at the silver contraption in my hands. I pressed the button then slid my finger across the screen, frowning at all the multicoloured boxes within the glass.

“I'm sorry, is it too hard for you?” he asked with wide, mocking eyes as he noticed me frowning down at his phone silently.

“Shut up,” I murmured back, finding the little button that said messages and pressing it open. I picked Scott's name and beginning to type the message. It took me a few minutes as I, ironically, wasn't exactly the fastest typer in the world. Finally I sent it and only a few moments later a text came through. “ _Need more time,_ ” I read out before sliding the phone back into Stiles' waiting hand.

“Hey, try not to bleed out on my seats, okay?” he spat at Derek as the wolf began to peel off his jacket, clutching his wounded arm in pain, sweat covering his face. “We're almost there.”

“Almost where?”

“Your house?”

Derek spun around to look at the boy in alarm. “No, you can't take me there.”

“I can't take you to your own house?” Stiles asked in disbelief.

“Not when I can't protect myself.”

“Juliet can protect you,” he said like it were the most simple solution in the world. I scowled at the implication that I'd ever put myself in danger to protect a mutt.

“I'm not putting my life in _her_ hands!” snarled Derek like the very suggestion were insulting. I scowled at him, nails digging into my palms.

Stiles slammed his foot to the brake, bringing the car to a stop as he veered off to the side of the road. The jeep jerked to a stop, and I caught myself on the back of the front seat, wincing at the blow.

“What happens if Scott doesn't find your little magic bullet?” Stiles asked loudly, turning around in his seat to face Derek fully, a furious, exasperated look on his face. “Hm? Are you dying?” he asked mockingly.

“Not yet,” panted the wolf. “I have a last resort.”

“What do you mean? What last resort?!” Stiles yelled, staring back at him and waiting for an answer I was confident wouldn't come. Derek pulled back the sleeve of his shirt, revealing the bullet wound in his forearm, caked in blackened blood. “Oh my God, what is that?” Stiles gagged, having a hard time stomaching the sight. How very human. “Ew, is that contagious?” he coughed. “You know what? You should probably just get out.”

“Start the car. Now,” growled Derek.

“I don't think you should be barking orders, what with the way you look,” Stiles replied sharply, and I snorted at the thinly veiled dog pun. “In fact I think if I wanted to, I could probably drag your little werewolf ass out into the middle of the road and leave you for dead.”

I smiled, amused by his little threat. It was kind of cute.

Derek growled, the sound a promise of violence. “Start the car, or I'm going to rip your throat out with my teeth,” he said, then paused, glancing over at me. “Or better yet, I'll have _her_ do it. And then you'll _really_ be in trouble,” he added with a sadistic kind of pleasure.

Stiles swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing beneath the soft, translucent skin of his throat. He looked over his shoulder at me and I grinned wickedly, teeth on full display. Although he didn't know what I was yet, it was still enough of a threat to make his heart pound in his chest. His eyes flickered between us nervously for a long moment before he snapped his attention back to the front and started the engine, pulling back out onto the road.

We drove around aimlessly for a long while, a tense silence filling the cab of the jeep. Derek grunted every now and then from the pain, and I got bored pretty quickly, pulling out a book from my bag and cracking it open, beginning to read. Derek's laboured breathing was distracting, though, and eventually Stiles tossed his phone back to me. I snatched it out of the air with ease, looking down at it apprehensively. “Send another text to Scott, tell him Derek's not looking so good.” He had apparently also noticed Derek was getting was only getting worse by the minute.

Again, it took me awhile, but I did as I was asked. “I'd give you some blood, if it wouldn't kill you,” I told Derek offhandedly, tossing Stiles' phone onto the seat beside me.

“Even if it wouldn't kill me, I wouldn't accept it anyway,” he retorted breathlessly, eyes clenched tight as he fought through another wave of pain.

It was quiet for a moment before Stiles spoke up, tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel idly. “So, how do you two know each other, anyway?” he glanced at me in the mirror, brown eyes alight with curiosity. “Are you guys cousins or something?”

I blinked in surprise at the unexpected question. “We don't know each other,” I told him honestly, shrugging my shoulders and settling further into the back seat. The cab of the jeep smelt like mint gum and curly fries, an odd but not altogether terrible combination. “We met for the first time when you guys did.”

“ _What_?” Stiles asked loudly, sounding stunned by the knowledge.

“It isn't a big deal,” I said, rolling my eyes and running a hand through my raven locks.

“Yes, actually, it is,” he bit back, flicking on his indicator as he made a right into a side street. “We've been operating under the assumption that the two of you have known each other and been working together this whole time.”

“Why would you talk to me then?” I couldn't help but ask, sitting up and shifting forwards, laying my arms on the seat dividing us to peer at the side of the boy's face. “If you thought I was working with him, why would you trust me?”

He paused, frowning at the dark road in front of him like he wasn't sure how to answer. Finally, after a long deliberation that I got the feeling was out of character for him, he responded, “you know what they say; keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

I sat back abruptly, crossing my arms and turning to glare out of the window. I didn't know why his answer bothered me so much, I had no idea what I'd expected him to say, and yet I couldn't help but feel somewhat disappointed. Maybe I'd been unconsciously fishing for compliments, and was just pouting that I'd gotten an insult instead.

I glanced up at the rising moon then at the large house we had just passed. “This is the fifth time we've driven past that house,” I told him sourly, refusing to meet his eyes in the mirror.

“Well, what else am I supposed to do other than circle the block?” he asked, his voice raised slightly. I could feel him trying to catch my gaze, and couldn't help but think that if he knew what I was and what I could do, the last thing he'd want to do would be to meet my eyes. “You know what?” he said when he got no answer other than my stony silence and a pained grunt from Derek, “I'm ringing Scott again. Hand me my phone.”

I was about to snap that I didn't like being told what to do, but I knew it wouldn't help anything, so I kept my lips pressed shut as I handed him his phone back. He dialled his friend's number, holding the small cell up to his ear. I wondered distantly how exactly I'd gotten myself into this situation in the first place. It wasn't exactly how I'd been expecting to spend my evening.

“Scott!” Stiles shouted once his canine friend answered the call.

“ _Stiles, listen, you've gotta keep going a little longer, man_ ,” I heard the teen wolf's voice say on the other end, and I scowled. He sure was taking his sweet time – wasn't like any of us had anything better to do with our time.

“What am I supposed to do with him?” hissed Stiles.

“ _Take him somewhere. Anywhere._ ”

“And by the way, he's starting to smell,” Stiles commented, throwing Derek a disgusted look. I sniffed tentatively, nearly gagging at the putrid scent that flooded my nose.

“ _Like what_?” Scott asked curiously.

“Like death.”

“Huh,” Derek sniggered weakly, wincing as the movement hurt his arm but still taking the time to flicker his eyes to me. “That's ironic.”

“Hold your tongue before I rip it out, you mutt,” I hissed back at him, angered by his jab at my scent. Stiles' keen eyes flickered between the wolf and I, like he was trying to figure something out, like we'd just given him a clue to a puzzle.

“ _Okay, take him to the animal clinic_ ,” Scott finally decided, voice hushed over the line.

“What about your boss?” Stiles asked, attention back on the conversation at hand.

“ _He's gone by now. There's a spare key in the box behind the dumpster_.”

“You're not going to believe where he's telling me to take you,” he sighed, not seeming to realise we could hear every word as he handed the phone to Derek and pressed a hand to his head as though trying to rub away a headache.

“Did you find it?” Derek asked the moment the phone was pressed to his ear.

I ignored the rest of that conversation, tuning out the sound of their overlapping voices. I tried not to think about how Stiles' had so quickly labelled me as an enemy. I supposed, at the root of it all, I was still a vampire; no matter how I tried to dress it up, I would always be their enemy. It was just my cross to bear.

We reached a small building proclaiming to be the veterinary clinic, and the car had barely rolled to a complete stop before I was stepping out into the light mist of rain that had slowly fallen over Beacon Hills.

Out here Derek's putrid scent was easier to ignore, and I took a deep breath of the clean air.

Derek tumbled out onto the road after me, and with an irritated huff I appeared beside him, reluctantly hefting him up so he didn't crumple to the floor like an invalid. I may not have had any personal stake in Derek's wellbeing, but he was a supernatural creature, and despite being as opposite as night and day, I was going to help save him, if only to piss off the hunter that had done this to him.

Stiles turned off his jeep and rushed towards the dumpster, searching for the clinic's spare key. Once he'd found it, he shoved at the door and held it open while I dragged a sluggish Derek in after him. The wolf was barely able to stand on his own two feet, swaying where he stood. I wondered if he were going to lose consciousness.

He pushed away from me, shrugging off his top and casting it aside. I blinked as my eyes caught sight of his wound, black veins not unlike my own when my true face showed crept up his arm and around his bicep, gruesome and familiar.

“You know that really doesn't look like anything a good night sleep couldn't take care of,” Stiles chimed awkwardly, smiling nervously and keeping his gaze away from the bloody wound.

“If the infection reaches my heart it'll kill me,” Derek panted, still swaying on his feet.

“Positivity just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?”

“If he doesn't get here with the bullet in time...last resort,” he breathed, pulling open drawers, clearly looking for something. I knew what he was talking about, sawing off the infected arm was the logical next step – but it was also the last thing I felt like doing. I didn't want to get blood on my hoodie.

“Which is?” Stiles asked cluelessly, not following the logic.

Derek finally found what he was looking for, holding up a small bone saw. “You're going to cut off my arm,” he told the human matter-of-factly.

Stiles froze, gaze flicking between the two of us as if trying to determine whether or not we were serious. “What?” he finally choked, blinking up at us, his face suddenly as pale and bloodless as mine. “Um, no,” he said, denial caking his tone.

“Um, yes,” I responded sassily, pulling off my hoodie, leaving me in a plain white tank top. I squashed it into a ball and threw it onto a counter in the far corner, where the blood splatter was least likely to ruin it. Stiles averted his eyes with a flush, as though I'd bared more than my arms and some collarbone, and I rolled mine in exasperation at his prudishness.

Picking up a piece of cord, I moved over to wrap it around Derek's bicep, above where the veins reached. Just because I didn't want to do this, didn't mean that I wouldn't. The hunters were going to kill one of my supernatural brethren over my undead body.

“Oh my God,” Stiles gagged as he picked up the bone saw, eyeing it in distaste and clicking it on. It made a loud, mechanical whirr, and he hurried to drop it back onto the table in disgust. “What if you bleed to death?” he asked, desperate to find fault in the plan.

“It'll heal if it works,” Derek responded tightly, just as I finished tying the cord around his arm.

“Look, I don't know if I can do this,” murmured Stiles with an edge of panic.

“Why not?”

“Uh, the cutting of the flesh? The sawing of the bone? And the _blood_ ,” he gagged at the thought.

I let out one short laugh, pressing a hand to my mouth to cover the smile that spread across my lips. “You faint at the sight of blood?” I asked in blatant amusement. He'd make such a bad vampire.

“No, but I might at the sight of a _chopped off arm_!” He glanced between us desperately, eyes wide and despairing, just _praying_ that he wasn't going to have to do this. “Can't she do it? While I leave the room and save myself the trauma?” he asked hopefully, gaze flickering over to me.

I shook my head, stepping away from Derek and crossing my arms, keeping my eyes on Stiles, displeasure in them at being spoken to so crassly. “ _She_ has to hold him down,” I told him, voice layered with displeasure. “If I don't, he could smack you out of instinct and give you a concussion.”

“But – but...” Stiles desperately wanted to debate the issue, but he couldn't seem to come up with a worthy argument.

“How about this? Either you cut off my arm, or I'm gonna cut off your head,” Derek threatened the boy around a snarl. Despite how sick he looked, there was no doubt in either of our minds that it was a threat he could most certainly carry out, even in his weakened state.

“Okay, you know what? I'm so not buying your threats anymore––” before he could finished speaking, Derek reached across the table and grasped the front of Stiles's shirt, yanking him over the metal table, glare like steel, eyes like chips of ice. “Holy crap,” stuttered Stiles in a panic. “Okay, alright, fine. I'll do it.”

He jerked back suddenly when the wolf turned his head to the side, tipping his head over the end of the table and opening his mouth, a sticky black substance pouring from his lips and onto the ground. I jumped back, away from the mess, to make sure it didn't get on my shoes.

“Holy _God_ , what the hell is that?” Stiles all but shrieked, cringing at the slimy black liquid now coating the floor.

“It's my body, it's trying to heal itself,” panted Derek.

“Well, it's not doing a very good job of it.”

“Now,” he panted, looking up at us pleadingly, his infected arm thrust forwards. “You've gotta do it now.”

“Look, honestly I don't think I can...”

“Just do it!”

I grasped hold of Derek's shoulders, pressing down with enough strength to keep him positioned on the table, but not so much that I cracked his bones. “Okay, here I go,” Stiles wheezed, picking up the bone saw and getting ready to hold it. It trembled in his hands, which wasn't particularly confidence inspiring. “I'm gonna do it,” he said bracingly.

“Stop announcing it, and just do it,” I snapped, still using all my supernatural strength to hold the werewolf in place. This was going to hurt like an absolute bitch, and for once I wasn't looking forward to the show.

“Stiles?” came a voice from the doorway. In the frenzy of it all, none of us had heard Scott arrive. He stood in the door now, a bemused frown on his face as he too in the barely-conscious Derek, me in a tank top, holding him firmly in place, and Stiles with a bone saw held out over his extended arm.

“Scott?” asked Stiles in surprise.

The younger wolf was panting from exertion, probably having rushed here to make it in time. “What the hell are you doing?!” he demanded, seeming alarmed by what he'd walked in on.

“You just prevented a lifetime of nightmares,” Stiles chuckled, almost giddy, elated he wouldn't be sawing off Derek's arm today.

“Did you get it?” Derek asked the pup quickly, his forehead pressed against the cool metal of the table below, probably trying to stave off the fever. Scott hurriedly dug into his pockets, fishing out a long, thin bullet and handing it over to the swaying werewolf.

“What are you going to do with it?” Stiles asked hesitantly, frowning at the small object, wondering how that would possibly be of any help now.

“I'm gonna––” Derek's words were cut off as his arms went slack and he fell, lifeless, to the floor.

I stepped back, giving him room to collapse. Scott and Stiles were gaping at his unconscious form in pure horror, thinking he was dead. But from inside his chest, his heart kept on beating. “He's alive,” I told them briskly. A relief, too, because I certainly didn't feel like letting those dickhead hunters win on this night.

I also didn't wanna have to bury a body – it had been a long enough day as it was.

Scott scrambled after the bullet, which had fallen from Derek's slackened fingertips. “Come on Derek,” Stiles was muttering, dropping to his knees beside the collapsed wolf, shaking him violently. He sucked in a breath, preparing himself for something. “Please don't kill me for this.”

In a move that surprised nobody more than me, the human drew his arm back before thrusting it forwards, punching Derek Hale clean across the face. My eyes went wide and I let out a breathy laugh and the werewolf's eyes snapped open just as Scott scrambled back to him with the bullet in hand.

Derek coughed, pupils blown from the poison. I reached down, gripping the dying wolf by the hand and forcefully dragging him to his feet. He came without argument, swaying into the table once he was upright.

“Give it here,” he rasped, snatching the bullet from Scott's hand and twisting it open, tipping the dried wolfsbane out onto the table and then holding out his hand to me expectantly. Understanding what he needed, I fished my lighter from my pocket and handed it over to him, watching as he lit the small pile of wolfsbane on fire.

It lit up in flames for a moment, before they eventually died away. He brushed the ashes into his hand, then after taking a deep breath to steady himself, he pressed them against his wound. An agonised scream left his mouth and he held the ashes to the hole in his arm, collapsing to the ground for the second time that night.

We all watched as the ugly black veins climbing his arm like vines slowly began to fade, the bullet hole stitching itself back together, rather like magic. Everything was silent for a moment, all of us processing what had just happened.

“That. Was. _Awesome_!” Stiles finally gasped. Rolling my eyes, I stepped forwards to pick up my lighter, slipping it into my pocket for safe keeping. “Yes!” he cheered, still getting over what he'd just witnessed.

“Are you okay?” Scott asked Derek in concern.

“Except for the agonising pain?” the wolf replied sarcastically, pushing himself into a sitting position, his signature grumpy scowl fixed into place.

“I'm guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health,” murmured Stiles.

“We just _saved_ your _life_!” Scott exclaimed suddenly, as if the words had been bubbling under the surface, just itching to explode out of him. “Which means you're going to leave us _alone,_ you got that? And if you don't, I'm going to go back to Allison's dad and I'm going to tell him everything!”

Both Derek and I froze, glares setting on our faces like concrete. This wolf didn't understand our world at all – he didn't have the slightest clue what he was getting himself into. “You're gonna trust them?” Derek asked quietly, but thinly-veiled fury was clear in his expression. “You think they can help you?”

“Why not?! They're a lot _freaking_ nicer than either of you are!” Scott cried back ardently.

Derek's lips twitched downwards into a frown, and he looked back at Scott, eyes utterly flat. “I can show you _exactly_ how nice they are,” he promised darkly.

There was a beat. “What do you mean?” Scott asked cautiously.

“You have to come with me,” the older wolf said tersely, nodding to the door meaningfully.

“Don't do it Scott,” muttered Stiles, shooting a distrusting glare at Derek. Scott looked between the beta wolf and his best friend, seeming to be having a difficult time making his decision. I said nothing – this was the teen wolf's choice to make, and honestly? I cared very little for the outcome.

Finally Scott turned to face Stiles, an apology in his eyes. “I have to find out what he knows, Stiles.” He tried to smile, but the expression fell flat. Stiles grimaced. “I'll see you tomorrow,” Scott said quietly, and Stiles' shoulders slumped in defeat.

Derek led the way out, Scott trailing after him, casting one last weary glance over his shoulder. Stiles and I were silent, staring through the doorway after them long after the bell above the front door had chimed as they left. Eventually Stiles turned to me, shoving his hands in his pockets, looking awkward and uncomfortable. “Do you – do you want a ride home?” he stammered.

“I can walk,” I told him, cool and detached, brushing my hair off my face. I picked up the hoodie I'd abandoned on the far table, pulling it back on over my tank top, which thankfully remained unblemished by blood. I spun on my heel, heading for the door.

“What I mean,” Stiles said loudly, catching my attention and making me pause in the doorway, “is you don't have to. Walk, that is.”

I spun around, crossing my arms and fixing him with a suspicious look. “What do you want?” I asked confrontationally. He'd already told me I was the enemy; of course he wanted something from me. Somebody always wanted _something_. “Is it information you're after?” I pressed stubbornly.

“No,” he shot back defensively. “All I'm doing is offering you a ride. Geez.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, evaluating the look of innocence in his eyes and the steady beat of his heart. His sincerity didn't appear to be a farce. I didn't want to walk home, not with hunters roaming the town – it was risky, even for me – so I begrudgingly took him up on his offer. I nodded my head once, turning around and heading for the door, only to pause when he didn't follow me. “Well?” I asked impatiently over my shoulder. “Are you coming or what?”

Stiles blinked in surprise, giving a quick, sloppy nod and hurrying to rush to my side. We filed out of the clinic, Stiles having the sense to lock the door and hide the key as we left. I climbed into his jeep, not bothering with the pretence of a seatbelt. The car rumbled to life beneath us and he edged it out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

“So,” Stiles began after a while, wisely keeping his eyes on the road. “If you didn't know Derek before you got to town, why did you come here? Were you looking for the alpha too?”

It could be perceived as fishing for information, but I knew that wasn't it. His heartbeat was steady, his tone sincere. He was only making innocent conversation.

I pursed my lips, briefly considering lying and telling him yes. But I decided the truth was easier; the more you told the truth, the less you had to remember. “No,” I admitted, turning in the passenger seat to glance at the side of his face. His heart picked up under my intense green stare, but he otherwise made no acknowledgement of my gaze. “I didn't come here for any specific reason. I just threw a dart at a map.”

“Huh,” he responded, and I realised he must have been cold as he moved his hand to the controls in the centre, turning on the heat. “Your parents just let you pick where to move to like that?”

I didn't tense up, I'd stopped doing that about a century ago. It didn't hurt as much anymore, though if I concentrated I could still feel the sting in my chest when I thought about them. “My parents are...long gone,” I told him distantly, peering out the window at the trees as they flew past.

“So, you live with like an aunt or something?” he assumed, taking a left into the industrial district to cut through the town, a shortcut to the part of town my suburb, and probably his, was located in.

“It's just me now,” I said dully, leaning forwards to press my forehead against the glass. I avoided taking a breath in, the boy's irresistible scent overwhelming me. It was easier to pretend I didn't want to kill him if I wasn't breathing.

“What, so you're like emancipated?” he asked, finally glancing over at me for a brief moment before returning his eyes to the road.

“Something like that,” I mumbled, my eyes flickering up to where the moon hung in the sky, glowing enchantingly.

I could practically hear the cogs turning in his brain, so I kept quiet and let him think. “How old are you?” he asked carefully after a long moment as he pulled into my street.

I was technically 203, physically 18, but legally – on my _illegal_ documents – I was 16. I had to give him the most believable, and most untrue answer for the sake of my secret. “I'm 16,” I lied like it was second nature, and after all this time, it was.

“I don't––” he began, but I wasn't interested in whatever he had to say, cutting him off as he rolled to a stop in front of my house, cracking open my door and jumping to the ground. I slipped a cigarette from my pocket, moving my little blue lighter up to light it. I took a drag, closing my eyes and letting the taste of smoke in my mouth distract me as I turned around, picking up my bag from the floor of his jeep. “See you at school,” Stiles said quietly.

I eyed him thoughtfully in the dark, his face lit up in the glow from his jeep's dash. “Okay,” I finally responded, the word curt and final, letting the door swing shut before making my way up my path to my porch steps. As I cracked open my unlocked door, I glanced over my shoulder at the boy in the car that still sat idle in front of my house. I frowned, in another life I might have thought it was sweet that he was waiting for me to get inside safely before leaving.

In another life.


	6. Listening

_Naive minds for naive lives,_

_We don't have nine lives,_

_Open your eyes_

_The only chance you get,_

_Is here tonight_

Listening – Tonight Alive

* * *

I was late to school the next morning, but I hardly thought it mattered. By the time I reached the looming building I had missed most of chemistry, but if anything I considered that a bonus. I loathed Mr Harris more than I loathed any of the other teachers at this pathetic school. I figured I might as well skip the whole class, sneak in during the gap between classes and make my way to French. So I leant against the wall near the entrance, pulling out a cigarette from my bag and lighting it, taking a long, indulgent puff.

I was halfway through my stick, perfectly minding my own business, when secretive giggles came from the doorway behind me. I turned in time to watch as the werewolf-Scott and human-Allison hurried out of the school, hand-in-hand, grins on their faces like they were having the time of their lives.

“And just where are _you_ two off to?” I asked loudly, tilting my head against the bricks and smiling in amusement as they flinched, spinning around the face me with guilty expressions, like two kids getting caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

“Juliet,” Scott greeted me awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, sheepish and uncomfortable under the weight of my stare. “What're you doing out here?” he asked slowly.

“Smoking,” I responded flippantly, nonchalantly flicking the ash from the end of my cigarette.

They glanced at each other, deflating as they realised they'd been caught. “We were just heading back inside,” Allison sighed disappointedly, shooting me a smile that fell flat. They both turned to head back into the building, heads hung in defeat.

I actually felt a surge of sympathy for the pair of them, and silently marvelled at the strange, alien sort of sensation. I wasn't used to experiencing such emotions – turning my humanity switch on had done more than I'd anticipated.

“Or you two could just, you know, sneak off to your car and go wherever it is you were planning to go,” I suggested with a smirk that gave away none of my inner turmoil. I took a slow, deliberate drag of smoke and blew it from my lips in rings that got bigger the further they floated further away.

“You won't tell?” Allison asked hopefully, her entire, gorgeous face lighting up in excitement.

“I won't tell,” I confirmed with another smirk, dropping what was left of my cigarette to the cement and stepping on it with the heel of my boot just as the bell rang from inside, signalling the change of period. “Now go, before someone with an actual, functioning moral compass spots you,” I shooed them away impatiently.

They both smiled at me gratefully, but I was uninterested in their gratitude, waving them off, and disappearing into the school. I wandered through the hallways until I got to my locker, and by the time I got there the bell had rung again and the halls were quickly emptying.

I keyed in the combination – my sister's birthday – and cracked it open, pulling my French textbook out and slipping it into my bag. Footsteps sounded behind me, and I detected a familiar, wet-dog scent that I now associated with strongly with a sense of irritation.

“Hello, Derek,” I drawled, letting my locker door slam shut and turning around to face him, shoving my hands into the pockets of my black coat, tilting my head and peering at him closely. He looked a far cry better from yesterday, when he'd stumbled into the school looking like death warmed up. He stared back at me, trademark scowl on his face. “Well?” I prompted impatiently when he didn't say anything, raising my eyebrows expectantly. “What do you want this time?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, looking annoyed that he had to talk with me at all. I understood the feeling. “You have to compel Jackson Whittemore to tell us what he saw during the attack at the video store last night,” he told me flatly.

Wow; where to even begin?

“First of all, I don't _have_ to do anything,” I reminded him, expression hardened into a ferocious glare. “Last I checked, I wasn't your trained monkey.” He exhaled sharply once more, crossing his arms to mirror my stance, scowling at me darkly, though it didn't so much as make me shiver. To a vampire as old as me, he just wasn't that scary. “Secondly, what attack at the video store?” I pressed, unbothered by his temper.

“The alpha, it killed a man at the video store last night,” Derek told me in a hiss that the humans loitering at the end of the corridor wouldn't be able to hear. “Don't you watch the news?”

“Not typically,” I murmured, brow furrowed as I considered what this meant. Either the alpha was getting reckless, desperate maybe, or he had a plan, one I couldn't even begin to understand.

“Well?” snapped Derek, and realising I'd been staring blankly into thin air, I looked up at him impassively.

“Well what?” I asked, blinking back innocently.

“Will you _please_ ,” he spat the word like it was a curse, “compel the boy for answers?”

I pursed my lips like I was considering his request, although really, I'd already made up my mind. “No,” I finally told him, hitching my bag up higher on my shoulder and heading down the corridor.

“What do you mean, _no_?” he asked with a confused frown, trailing after me reluctantly.

“I mean no,” I dead-panned back over my shoulder as I kept walking. He kept following me, and I got the feeling he was going to need a stronger argument than that if I wanted him to leave me alone. I rolled my eyes, wishing for patience as I slowed to a stop outside the library. “What?” I asked flatly.

“I thought you were going to help me find the alpha,” he said, trying very hard not to sound like he were whining.

“I _am_ ,” I assured him even as I let him see my irritated scowl. “But right now I have French class.”

He scoffed disparagingly. “You hardly seem like the type to care about that. What is this, your fortieth time going to high school?”

My eyes narrowed into tiny slits, but it wasn't enough to make him back down. “It's actually my first time at high school, believe it or not,” I told him sourly. That didn't count my years at various colleges around the world. High school, however, was a new one for me. But I'd figured, the younger I pretended to be, the longer I could stick around. “So you can take your sanctimonious bullshit and leave now.”

His eyes tightened, but I remained unbothered, turning towards my class.

“I'd stop showing up here, too, by the way. It's beginning to get a little bit creepy!” I added blithely over my shoulder. I heard his exhale of frustration, but happily ignored it, wandering down the empty hall in the direction of the French classroom.

French passed in a blur, and then maths, and then I was walking to History when Stiles jumped out in front of me, grasping my shoulders with his large hands and dragging me off to the side. I let him move me, not wanting to draw attention to myself by having him fall on his ass. I glared as he spoke.

“Have you seen Scott? I've been looking for him all day and I can't find him _anywhere._ He also isn't answering my texts, which isn't like him at all...” He seemed to take note of my dangerous expression and glanced down at his hands, awkwardly lifting them off of my body and clenching them into fists as they dropped to his sides. “So, have you seen him?” he asked stiltedly.

“Yes,” I told him, pulling out yet another a cigarette from my bag and lighting it up. I expected him to comment on it, but he just rolled his eyes and surged forwards, more worried about his friend than my slew of bad habits.

“Well, where the hell is he?”

“He's––” I began to say, but I got cut off by an unwelcome voice.

“Hey!” Mr Harris snapped from across the hall. I turned to him with a bored expression, watching as he stalked towards me, rage painted across his smarmy, ugly face. “You can't smoke that in here!” he said in a rush, as though stunned at my gall. He snatched the cigarette from my fingertips, holding it out of my reach as though I were a child from which he was confiscating a toy. “Detention after school, my classroom,” he barked like a fucking drill sergeant.

My lips twitched up in amusement, and he made the usually-fatal mistake of meeting my eyes. His expression fell flat, pupils dilating and his blinking coming to a stop. “I don't have to go to detention,” I told him, my voice as sweet and smooth as honey.

“You don't have to go to detention,” he repeated, voice dull and droning.

“Now,” I said, tilting my head and drawing him deeper into my trap, “give it back.” He handed the cigarette over without a word, and I took it from him, taking a deep drag without breaking eye contact. Finally I blinked, releasing him from my hold. He shook his head, glancing around the hall in confusion. I leaned back against the lockers, flicking the ash from the tip. “Go away,” I told him sternly, and with a befuddled frown he spun on his heel and headed down the hallway.

I watched him go, satisfied smirk on my lips, but my glee was interrupted by Stiles, who was gaping at me like I was the messiah, come back from the dead.

“That...was... _amazing_ ,” he gasped, looking between me and the teacher's retreating back as if he'd just watched a superhero take down their villain. “I didn't know you could do that. Though I suppose it makes sense, I have read lore that says...” he trailed off, eyes glassy as he stared off into the distance, thoughts somewhere else entirely.

“Yes?” I prompted, taking in another lungful of chemicals, curious about where that was going.

He blinked back to reality, heart thumping that little bit faster in his chest. “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “It doesn't matter.” I shrugged in response, deciding that I didn't care, adjusting the strap on my bag. “Can you do that to change my chemistry grade?” he pressed on eagerly.

“Yes.”

“Will you?”

“No.”

He deflated, scrunching his nose up at me childishly. I snorted, rolling my eyes and starting down the hall. He followed me, and to my surprise I didn't find myself all that irritated by his accompanying footsteps and minty/chocolatey scent.

“So you were going to tell me where Scott went?” he pressed as we walked.

“He ditched with Allison for the day,” I told him.

Stiles took a moment to scoff in exasperation. “Typical,” he said bitterly, and something about the way he said it made me smirk. “Hey, did you hear about the attack last night? The one on Lydia and Jackson?” he asked as we walked. I hummed affirmatively, holding my breath to keep the smoke in for an extra moment before releasing it through pinched lips. “D'you think it was the alpha?”

Well, that was a disappointingly stupid question. “I know it was,” I told him with a saintlike amount of patience as the bell rang overhead and students scurried to get into their classrooms on time. Neither Stiles nor I made any move to hurry to get to our own classes, strolling down the hall leisurely, like a day out in the park.

“How?” he pressed quickly.

I looked at him like he was an utter idiot. “Well, I know it wasn't me, or Scott, or Derek,” I said like I was talking to a pre-schooler. “So, by process of elimination, that only leaves...” I trailed off pointedly.

“But you don't think there could be another player?” he asked quickly, practically leaping on the theory.

“Player?” I echoed with a frown. “What do you think this is, a game?”

“I didn't mean it like that,” he hurried to backtrack, but I couldn't have possibly cared any less, looking away and puffing contentedly on my cigarette. Deciding to change the subject, Stiles tried a different tactic for conversation. “Have you seen Lydia today?” he asked, and I was admittedly made curious by the way his heart stuttered when he said the girl's name. “Jackson's here but she isn't.”

“Who the fuck is Lydia?” I asked.

“Who is––?” he cut himself off before he could finish, staring at me as though he couldn't imagine there was a single person on this earth who didn't know who this girl was. “Never mind,” he sighed, probably sensing that it was a dead end. “I think I'm gonna go to her house, check to see if she's okay,” he added thoughtfully.

“Be sure to send her my well-wishes,” I told him sarcastically, pasting a large, mocking, toothy grin onto my face.

Stiles smirked across at me in something like amusement, although I don't know what I said that was so funny. It was meant to sound scathing. I'd have to work on sounding meaner.

“This is my stop,” I told him offhandedly as we passed the world history classroom. “You can keep calling Scott if you want, but I'm pretty sure the most danger he's in is from getting some kind of an STD,” I said, and Stiles grimaced at the picture I'd painted, although he couldn't argue I was wrong.

“Great,” he muttered sarcastically. I clicked my tongue before turning around and stepping into my class, not even bothering with a farewell. As I moved over to a vacant seat, I listened to the sound of the human in the hall pause for a moment, heart stuttering, before he spun around and headed back down the corridor the way we'd come.

The rest of the day was pretty quiet – I barely paid attention in class, and actually decided to work on one of my assignments during lunch out of nothing but a sheer, consuming sense of boredom.

I'd happily thought I'd fulfilled my Stiles-quota for the day, so when he rang me shortly after school had ended, I was admittedly surprised. “Yes?” I answered the call, halfway through the forest on my long trek home.

“I need your help,” he said seriously, the sound of his voice anxious.

“I'm not compelling Mr Harris so he has good things to say at the parent-teacher conference tonight,” I told him firmly, stepping up over a fallen tree. “You got yourself in this mess, now you gotta grow a pair and face the music.”

“What? No,” he responded, sounding offended by my words, though I couldn't be sure why. “Listen, I found something on Lydia's phone.”

I paused mid-step, frowning suspiciously. “I swear to _God_ , Stiles. If you're about to say something dirty––”

“She has footage of the alpha,” he said briskly, interrupting anything else I could have said.

I stopped dead, blinking at the trunk of the tree in front of me. “She _what_?” I asked, shrill with surprise.

“Listen, you weren't exactly my first choice of call, but Scott isn't answering his phone,” he admitted, and I sighed, bowing my head and pinching the skin between my eyebrows in exasperation. “Could you please just come over to me house and help me decide what to do about it?” he begged me, and I grit my teeth together tightly.

I hesitated. I didn't exactly feel like wandering into this kid's house, especially when I knew I'd be completely immersed in his delicious scent – not to mention the fact that once I'd been invited in, there was absolutely nothing stopping me from going back and killing him while he slept.

But despite all this, I knew this was important, and it wasn't like I had any plans other for the night than to watch some old free-to-air movie on the TV and drink some microwaved blood. I sighed, running a hand through my midnight locks, enjoying the tug at my scalp. “Where do you live?” I asked, then listened as he rattled off his address. “I'll be there in five.” I hung up before he could comment at all, turning no my heel and taking off back the way I'd come.

I had no idea where his street was, and my phone was so old that it didn't have those fancy GPS systems that everyone seemed to have these days, so I headed into a convenience store to ask for directions. I got to Stiles' house in just under five minutes, as promised, and I knocked on the front door loudly, unsure what his sad little human ears could and could not hear.

I heard clumsy, uneven steps practically run down the stairs inside, racing towards the door. Stiles pulled it open, relief spread across his face at the sight of me. Something in my stomach clenched, because it had been a long, long time since anyone had actually been _relieved_ to see me. My presence usually evoked the complete opposite reaction.

“Hey,” he greeted me, pulling open the door wider and stepping back, waiting for me to pass through. I paused, pressing my lips together awkwardly. I couldn't get in without an invitation, but if I told him that I'd have to admit to being a vampire, which I wasn't sure I was ready to do.

His brow furrowed with confusion as he watched me, eyes alight with curiosity. I could practically hear the cogs in his head spinning round and round as he fought to figure it all out. “Uh, can I...?” I trailed off, unsure how to ask the question without sounding like an idiot.

To my surprise, Stiles didn't seem confused. In fact he seemed to almost _understand._ He nodded his head, stepping back even further and deliberately saying, in no uncertain terms, “would you like to come inside, Juliet?”

I pressed my foot against the barrier, trying not to sag with relief when it pushed past the threshold with zero resistance. I stepped through the doorway, letting him close the door behind me before letting him lead me up to his room. On the way upstairs I peeked at the photos lining the walls, my lips twitching as I caught sight of what could only be a baby-Stiles. One in particular made me smile, Stiles sitting in one of those children's car rides at the mall, a large grin on his face showing his two front teeth missing.

I stepped into his room, pretending not to notice as he inconspicuously kicked a pile of dirty laundry under his bed. I looked around the room, taking in the organised chaos of his desk and the band posters strung around the room. I wasn't familiar with most of it. The only music I really enjoyed listening to was from the fifties.

He gestured for me to take a seat on the end of his bed and I did so hesitantly, trying to breathe through my mouth without being weird about it so I wouldn't get overwhelmed by his scent. I dropped my bag at my feet, taking the cell phone he offered me then staring at it in confusion. What was I supposed to do with it, exactly?

He laughed – although I couldn't help but notice the sound was tense and nervous – and took the phone back, clicking some buttons with practised ease and then handing it to me again. I watched the little screen as the video played; the lights flickered and then there was the shattering of glass before a large black shape leapt threateningly towards the camera, the only discernible features its glistening white fangs and its glowing red eyes.

“Hm,” I hummed, handing back the phone and folding my hands together, staring down at them thoughtfully.

“Well?” he asked, sounding desperate for my input. “What do we do?”

“Delete it,” I said immediately, staring up at him like he was an idiot. “Obviously.”

“Are, are you sure?”

I paused, _was_ I sure? I scowled, I didn't like having to reevaluate my answer. “Well, yes...” I pressed my lips together, then shuffled backwards on the bed until my back hit the headboard, tapping my head against the wood. “I mean, what else are we going to do with it?” I asked.

“What if Lydia notices it missing?” he asked anxiously.

“Who cares?” I asked callously. “The longer you leave before deleting it, the more chance there is for somebody to find it. Then we're _all_ in trouble,” I told him seriously, trying not to think about the serious threat the hunters posed to me.

One hunter? Two? Not a problem. But if the other week at the gas station was anything to go by, the Argents had brought some friends into town with them. Not to mention papa-Argent's psychopathic sister was in town.

Derek had warned me about her, although he hadn't said much more than she was ruthless and dangerous. I'd laughed when he'd told me, saying it wouldn't be a problem. Then again, the only real thing keeping me safe was that everyone in town was operating under the assumption I was a werewolf, if that changed, who knew which direction things could go?

“I'm calling Scott again,” Stiles announced after a long silence, tapping away at his phone then holding it up to his ear. “Hey, it's me again. Look, I found something and I don't know what to do, okay? So if you could turn your phone on, right now, that'd be great. Or else? I'll kill you. Do you understand me? I'm gonna kill you. And I'm too upset to come up with a witty description about how exactly I'm going to kill you, but I'm just gonna do it. Okay? Ugh. Goodbye,” he grunted into the phone.

I couldn't help the genuine laugh that bubbled up and spilled from my lips as I listened to his message. Hearing a human so young and harmless threatening somebody's life like that, well to a monster like me, it seemed downright hilarious. I tipped my head back, letting myself enjoy the amusing moment. When I focused my attention back on Stiles, he was staring at me with an odd expression on his face. “What?” I asked self-consciously, blinking back at him warily.

“I've just never seen you laugh like that before,” he said quietly. “Hell, I didn't even know you _could_ laugh like that.”

I wanted to be irritated by his words, but something in my chest warmed with the way he was staring at me; like I _wasn't_ a blood-sucking demon.

Footsteps sounded from down the hall as Stiles continued to watch me. I briefly considered compelling him to tell me what he was thinking, but ultimately decided against it when an older man – the one from the photos – peeked his head around the corner and knocked on the door. Stiles gasped, jumping in shock and holding a hand to his heart. I stared up at the man passively.

“Oh, hello,” he said in surprise, sticking his hands in the pockets of his pants and smiling welcomingly, although it held a hint of awkwardness I couldn't deny. “I wasn't expecting Stiles to have company.”

“Dad, this is Juliet,” the boy in question introduced us, collapsing in his desk chair and swinging on it to occupy himself. “She's a...friend from school,” he said, stumbling over the word 'friend'.

“Good afternoon, Sheriff,” I greeted him, bowing my head in respect and arranging my lips into an award-winning smile – the kind that frequently dazzled humans into giving me what I wanted, even without the use of compulsion.

“Please,” said the man with an easy grin, “When I'm not on duty, it's just John.”

“John,” I repeated, crossing my legs and sitting up straighter on Stiles' bed.

“Are you new to town?” he asked politely, leaning against the doorframe. “I haven't seen you around before. Who're your parents?”

I paused, pursing my lips, my eyes darting to Stiles as I remembered what he'd assumed the other week in the car. “Oh, I'm emancipated. I live on my own in the old Miller house,” I told him confidently.

“Wow, emancipated,” he echoed in understandable surprise, crossing his arms and frowning as he watched me, something like concern in his eyes. “Why is that?” he pressed.

“Gee dad, don't you think that's a little personal?” Stiles spoke up, and I felt a wave of gratitude. I hadn't been expecting to befriend anyone in town, so I hadn't concocted a backstory beyond the basic details. I was glad I didn't have to make one up now.

“You're right,” the sheriff said, smiling and ducking his head sheepishly before returning his attention to his son. “And _you_ ,” he said shortly, eyeing Stiles with trepidation, “please tell me I'm going to hear good news at this parent-teacher thing tonight.”

Stiles winced. “Depends on how you define good news.”

“I define it as you getting straight A's with no behavioural issues.”

“You might wanna rethink that definition,” Stiles replied, and I turned my head to the side, hiding a tiny smirk of amusement.

“Enough said,” John sighed, tapping his legs with a sense of finality. “It was nice to meet you Juliet,” he said politely as he turned to look at me. “Stay out of trouble.”

“Will do, John!” I gave him a wave as he left.

We waited until John's footsteps had faded and the front door had clicked shut before either of us spoke.

“I wish Scott would just answer his damn phone,” Stiles sighed, running a hand over his short hair. I leaned back, staring up at the roof and ignoring the flare of white hot heat in my throat as I breathed in his heavenly scent. I clenched my hands into fists, my sharp nails biting into the skin on my palms as I fought the urge to attack him, or at least do something I'd regret.

“We need to make a decision,” I said, mostly just to distract myself. I got to my feet, distancing myself from his bed; his scent was the worst amongst his pillows. “We can't keep wasting time.”

“You're right,” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut tight. After a long, tense moment his arm shot out and he snatched the phone off the desk. I walked over so I stood behind him, watching over his shoulder as he clicked several buttons, until finally the screen flashed with a single notification.

_Items deleted._

I nodded my head despite knowing he couldn't see. “You made the right call.”

Stiles sighed, unsure. He seemed to make an internal decision to put it out of his mind, swinging around the face me, his expression curious.

“What?” I asked hesitantly, somehow knowing that I was about to be bombarded with questions. I hoped they were ones I could actually answer.

“I've been looking into something recently, and I could use your input,” he said, pushing himself to his feet and moving over to his bottom desk drawer, which he tugged open, pulling at the papers on top until he dug out a specific folder. He presented it to me, watching my reaction closely. I took it, walking backwards until my legs hit his bed and I let myself fall back onto it, glancing up at him with raised brows. “You've heard about the Hale fire, right?”

“Everyone in the supernatural community has,” I responded immediately, focusing on the feeling of the paper under my skin instead of the mouthwatering aroma coming from where he stood, only feet away from me. He turned and took a seat on the edge of the bed beside me, leaning over me to read the papers as I pulled them out.

“Really?” he asked as I tugged out the top paper, my keen eyes reading it with a simple glance before I moved on to the next one.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “The Hale family was a huge deal back when they were still around. They were one of the most powerful packs in North America.” I looked away from the papers and up at him, blinking as I realised he was was close I could smell his minty breath. He flinched back when he realised it too. “Why are you so interested?”

“Well, I think the hunters were the ones who burnt the house down,” he said with a shrug. “But I can't know for sure. I figured you might see something I didn't.”

I didn't reply, continuing to read the report he'd no doubt stolen from his father. He leaned forwards again, his chest brushing my arm. I felt the heat of his body and the pulse of his heart through the thin fabric and tensed, hunger surging through me. “I have to leave,” I announced suddenly, standing to my feet and dropping the file where I'd been sitting.

If I stayed any longer, there was no doubt that I'd kill him, and then all this dieting would be for nothing.

“What? Did you find something?” he asked eagerly.

“No, I just have a prior engagement,” I said stiffly.

“A _prior engagement_?” he asked with an exasperated frown. “Nobody actually speaks like that, you know?”

I picked up my bag, slung it over my shoulder and made a beeline for the door. “I just really need to leave, Stiles,” I said seriously, my voice leaving no room for argument. Couldn't he see I was trying to save his goddamn _life_? He opened his mouth, no doubt to try and argue some more, but I cut him off with a stern note of finality. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

He nodded his head reluctantly, eyes clouded with confusion, but I was gone before he could voice any more of the questions swimming in the tank of his brain.


	7. Runaways

_They won't catch us_

_In the dark_

_Roll like thunder  
Burn like stars_

Runaways – All Time Low

* * *

Stiles' dad was hit by a car.

I knew this because the day after it happened Stiles himself had cornered me at school and proceeded to rant about how it was all Scott's fault.

I hadn't really listened, I'd been sketching on my favourite notepad at the time, but I knew that he wasn't too badly hurt but that Stiles still held it against Scott for being too worried in fucking his new girlfriend to worry about anyone else.

I was paraphrasing, but the sentiment was still the same.

The few days after that were taxing as hell. Stiles wouldn't leave me alone. He stuck to me like a mosquito, constantly buzzing in my ear and using me as a way to avoid his best friend. No matter what rude names I called him, or how snappy and cruel I was, he wouldn't go away. Everything I said just seemed to roll off his back, like nothing affected him. It was annoying, but over the course of those few days I realised it was actually kind of nice to have company. People tended to give me a wide berth, because, in their words, I was mean, intimidating and scary.

So it was definitely a change to have somebody actually willingly sit with me at lunch.

It wasn't only Stiles that had taken a weird shining to me. Allison was also strangely kind, smiling at me in the halls and striking up conversations with me in the classes we shared together. She even approached Stiles and I at lunch one day, sitting down to chat with me for a moment. I didn't give her much to work with, keeping my answers short and clipped, hoping she'd take the hint and go away.

Today, Stiles had found me outside, leaning against the side of the building and smoking a cigarette. “Hey,” he greeted me mildly, but I didn't bother to respond as I idly blew smoke rings from my mouth. “So, listen...I need a favour,” he began.

“No,” I said without so much as a beat, glancing up at the sun beating down on me, instinctively glancing to my daylight ring, the only thing standing between me and incineration.

“You don't even know what it is,” he complained, gesturing wildly with his arms like he so often did.

“And yet, my answer's still no.”

“Look,” he began, moving to stand in front of me. Before he could continue I blew a lungful of smoke directly into his face. He coughed and waved his hand in the air in front of him, cringing at the smell and the burning in his eyes. “Secondhand smoke kills, you know,” he whined.

My lips twitched up into a wicked smirk. “I'm counting on it.”

He glared as darkly as he could, which honestly wasn't very, and crossed his arms, beginning his pitch again. “Listen, all I need is for you to go do that hypnosis thing on Coach and get his phone off of him for me.”

“Why?” I asked suspiciously. He hesitated like he was reluctant to tell me. “Aw, come on,” I prodded him playfully. “We just spent the last four days bonding and now you're not gonna tell me why you wanna borrow my compulsive powers?”

“I'm teaching Scott how to control the shift,” he admitted, rubbing the spot on his chest that I'd poked.

I paused, raising an eyebrow at him. “What the hell makes you think you're qualified to do that?” I asked carefully, taking a long drag of smoke.

“Better me do it than Derek,” he snorted.

“What is this brilliant plan and why does it involve Coach's phone?” I asked, dropping the end of the cigarette on the ground and stamping on it with my shoe.

“I'm going to take one of the heart monitors the track team uses to monitor Scott's heart rate while I throw lacrosse balls at him, but the monitors are linked to Coach's phone.”

I appraised him quietly for a moment, secretly kind of impressed. He took what resources he had and came up with a slightly brilliant plan. Finally I nodded, pleased by the way his face lit up with glee. “I'll do it _if_ ,” I said, and he paused, raising an eyebrow, no doubt worried I was going to make him do something terrible. “ _If_ I get to throw lacrosse balls at Scott too.”

“Deal!” he agreed immediately, reaching out a hand for me to shake. I looked down at it like it was going to bite me, but he didn't back down, holding it out with a dopey grin. I sighed and slapped my hand into his, clenching lightly so I wouldn't crush his bones into dust and shaking for a moment before pulling away, trying not to think about how I could feel his blood pulsing under his skin.

He led me through the school towards Coach's office, pushing me into the room while he scurried off to look for the heart monitors. “Can I help you?” the older man with a receding hairline asked me sassily.

I wasn't in the mood for games, so I simply stalked towards him, locking eyes and drawing him into my hold. “You're going to give me your phone without asking questions, then forget I was ever here. And you're not going to look for it,” I compelled him. He repeated my instructions back to me, and I blinked when I was satisfied it had worked. He wordlessly handed over his sleek black phone and I gave him a mock salute, spinning around and meeting Stiles at the locker room door.

We held up what we'd retrieved, smirking at one another's success. “That'll never not be cool,” he said with a nod in the direction of the Coach's office. My smirk widened into a grin, and we turned to make our way towards the lacrosse field where Stiles had said he was meeting Scott. “So, you've forgiven him then?” I asked, shoving the phone into my back pocket and sliding my hands into the large pocket on the front of my Harvard hoodie.

“No,” he answered me immediately, scowling at the mere thought. “It's going to take a lot more than a simple apology to get him back in my good graces,” he grumbled.

I nodded in agreement. “Make him work for it.”

“Exactly,” he grinned toothily. My lips twitched, something in me wanting to return the gesture. But I smothered it, fixing a cool stare on my face.

“Juliet,” Scott greeted, standing from the bench he was parked on and looking down at me in surprise. “I didn't know _you_ were coming.”

“She's part of the plan,” Stiles told him without hesitation, leading the boy past the bleachers towards the field. “Now...put this on,” he instructed as he took a seat on one of the benches, holding up the monitor.

“Isn't this one of the heart rate monitors for the track team?” Scott asked dubiously.

“Yeah, I borrowed it,” Stiles replied with a shrug.

“Stole it?”

I threw one leg over the bench so that I was straddling it facing Stiles as I listened to their conversation. “Temporarily misappropriated,” he corrected irritably. “Coach uses it to monitor his heart rate with his phone while he jogs. And you're gonna wear it for the rest of the day.”

I slipped the phone from my pocket, holding it up in the light for him to see. “Isn't that coaches phone?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at us.

Stiles paused for a brief moment before pasting a proud grin on his face and proclaiming, “that, I stole.”

I frowned confusedly at the boy. I was expecting him to tell his friend that I'd compelled it off coach, and I opened my mouth to tell him so when a look from Stiles stopped me. I suddenly understood, Stiles hadn't told Scott he knew I could compel people. My brows furrowed in bewilderment as I tried to make sense of it all in my head. What did that mean? Why hadn't he told Scott?

“Why?” Scott asked, none the wiser.

“Well, your heart rate goes up when you go wolf, right?” he began steadily. “When you're playing lacrosse, when you're with Allison, whenever you get angry. Maybe learning to control it is tied to learning to control your heart rate.”

“Like the Incredible Hulk,” Scott said, a smile playing on his lips.

“Kinda like the Incredible Hulk,” Stiles allowed with a shrug.

“Nah, I'm like the Incredible Hulk,” Scott repeated, a full blown grin on his face.

“Just shut up and put the strap on.”

While he was attaching it to his body, the teen wolf looked down at me where I sat quietly straddling the bench. “Is he right? About the heart rate thing?”

I pursed my lips. “Well, I'm no expert, but it certainly makes sense,” I shrugged, wincing as the sun broke the clouds and hit me directly in the face, sending pain searing through my skull. I blinked, pressing my fingers to my temple as I winced. After a moment the sun disappeared back behind clouds again and the pain faded. I felt eyes on me and turned my gaze to Stiles, who was staring at me blatantly. When he saw me looking, he hurriedly turned away, busying himself with the equipment.

“How could you _not_ be an expert?” Scott asked, frowning in confusion.

I snapped my eyes up to meet his with was I hoped was an irritated-looking glare. “It's not an exact science, Scott.”

“Okay,” he said in an effort to keep the peace. He tilted his head to the side and his eyes suddenly widened in alarm. He stared at me with something like terror in his gaze. I looked down at myself confusedly, wondering if I'd maybe spilt blood on my shirt during breakfast that morning or something.

“What?” I asked self-consciously, blinking at the clean, grey sweater with a frown.

“I-I left my drink bottle over by the bench, can you p-please go get it?” he stumbled over his words, staring at me like I was a fucking ghost or something.

“Why can't Stiles go get it?”

The boy in question seemed to see something I didn't, because he nodded hastily. “No, I've gotta duck-tape his arms. Just do it.” He paused, noticed my dangerous glare. “Please?”

I huffed but did as they asked, pushing myself to my feet and moving past the bleachers towards the bench Scott had been sitting on only minutes ago. I walked steadily away from them, but continued to listen to them talk as easily as if I were standing right there. They whispered between themselves, stupidly assuming I wasn't listening. “Dude,” Scott hissed in a panic. “Stiles, she has no _heartbeat._ ”

The was a pause, then Stiles said without a hint of surprise, “I have a theory, but I have to research it more before I present it. Give me a few more days, then I'll talk to you and we can confront her.”

I picked up the small water bottle resting on the leg of the bench. It was just a cheap little thing, and it irritated me that they sent me to get it so they could whisper behind my back. As I walked back towards them I couldn't help but wonder what Stiles' theory was. Did he know what I was? I thought back to all the secret little looks he gave me, like he was slowly figuring me out. He didn't know for certain, so I clung to that hope that he wouldn't ever have it confirmed as I met them back on the field, setting down the bottle as I watched Stiles tape Scott's arms together behind his back, both acting like nothing had happened.

“This isn't exactly how I wanted to spend my free period,” he said pointedly, glancing over his shoulder at his friend.

“Alright, ready?”

“No.”

“Remember: don't get angry,” Stile warned, leaning down to tap away at Coach's phone, activating the monitor.

“I'm starting to think this is a really bad idea.”

Stiles tipped the little white balls out onto the field, picking up his crosse and scooping one into its little net. He tossed it unceremoniously at Scott, and it hit the boy in the leg. He cried out in pain, snatching up another one, this time hitting his face. “My turn,” I grinned wickedly, and he smirked, holding out the stick for me to take. “So, uh,” I began awkwardly, biting my lip and looking down at the crosse in my hands. “How exactly do I...you know...do this?”

He laughed lightly, but not in a mocking way, so luckily for him, he got to keep his voice box. He pressed his hand over my right one that was clenched around the stick, using it to guide me as he scooped up another one of the balls. He gave me a quick and simple run through of how to aim and shoot. I nodded and did as he instructed, frowning when the ball flew out of the net about ten feet away from Scott. I tried again, this time getting a little closer but still not landing a hit.

With a frustrated groan I dropped the stick, bending down to pick up one of the balls. I tossed it up and down for a moment, getting used to the weight. Scott's humoured expression fell from his face as he saw me tense, preparing to let it fly. “Not too hard!” he begged, but I didn't listen. I wasn't going to waste such a golden opportunity. I let it fly with some of my extra vampire strength, the ball practically disappearing it moved so fast. A split second later it connected with his chest and the boy fell back, yelping in pain. I smirked proudly, stepping aside and letting Stiles have another few throws.

We alternated between throws, chuckling at Scott's pain – Stiles, because he was angry at his friend for what happened to his father; me, because I was a sick, sick vampire who enjoyed inflicting pain on others – and after a long while Stiles turned to me, a mischievous grin on his face as he scooped up a ball, plucking it from the net and handing it to me. “As hard as you can.”

“As hard as I can?” I asked doubtfully, squeezing the ball in my grasp. “I'll break something,” I warned.

Stiles shrugged carelessly. “He'll heal.”

I smirked, who knew that Stiles could be so _fun?_ I turned to face Scott, who was wincing already, tensing in preparation of my throw. I tossed it in the air, caught it then hurled it at Scott with every ounce of my strength. The ball disappeared, reappearing a split second later as it crashed into his chest. I heard the distinct cracking of bones and grinned, the expression melting into a frown when the wolf collapsed, groaning in pain, breathing heavily.

We watched as he ripped open his bindings, and Stiles ducked down to pick up the beeping phone. “Scott?” he asked tentatively as the boy's back bent at what looked like a painful angle. I tensed, preparing for a fight. Then something utterly miraculous happened, he slowly but surely began to calm down, as if by the sheer power of will. “Scott? You started to change,” Stiles said worriedly, moving closer to his friend, who was panting on the ground.

“Anger...only it was more than that,” Scott breathed, wincing as he pressed a hand to his ribs. “The angrier I got, the stronger I felt.”

“So it _is_ anger then. Derek's right.”

“I can't be around Allison,” he said with a pained frown. I rolled my eyes, this kid needed to sort out his priorities.

“Just because she makes you happy?” Stiles asked doubtfully.

“No, because she makes me weak.”

* * *

I strolled down the hall during my free period, on my way outside so I could have a cigarette without anyone telling me off. As I turned down a hallway, I picked up on the sound of a heartbeat racing in someone's chest. I looked down the hall, narrowing my eyes as I saw that Jackson kid leaning over Allison. “So,” he began, voice slow and deliberate and kind of of creepy as Allison leaned away from him uncomfortably. “What are you reading?”

I was by their side in the blink of an eye, grasping the collar of Jackson's shirt and yanking him to his feet. “Hey,” I barked, slamming him against the lockers before letting him go, wiping his sweat off on my jeans. “Back off, creep,” I hissed, glancing down at a wide-eyed Allison.

“We were just talking,” he defended as Allison scrambled to her feet.

“Really Juliet, it's fine.”

Her heartbeat said otherwise, but I let it go, stepping back and frowning to myself. I had a thing about dickhead boys leering over innocent girls, thinking they could do what they wanted, just because they appeared to have all the control. I'd been in the position of the innocent girl once before, and I never planned to again.

I turned to Jackson, letting my fangs elongate just the tiniest fraction. “Watch yourself,” I warned him through my evil grin. His heart stuttered at the dangerous gleam in my eyes, but otherwise he kept composed, showing no outward signs of fear.

I nodded politely at Allison, trying not to think about how scared she looked. I hadn't wanted to frighten her, I'd simply wanted to threaten Jackson and be on my way.

I pushed my way out into the sun, sliding down the wall around the corner from the door and pulling out a book and a cigarette. Lighting the latter and cracking open the former, I leant back against the bricks and lost myself in the words on the page.

It was peaceful for a long time as I read, not interested in being in class. There were a group of boys to my left standing around, making jokes and playfully shoving each other but I ignored them easily enough. It wasn't until I detected the familiar aroma of mint and chocolate that I snapped my head up, watching Stiles and Scott walk past where I sat without noticing me at all. “What are we doing?” Scott asked cautiously.

“You'll see, hold on,” Stiles told him quietly as I watched on with keen interest. “Okay, stand right there. Do you have your keys? Perfect, hold them up, like so...” The boy left his friend standing there, glancing over his shoulder. “Now, whatever happens just think about Allison. Try to find her voice like you did at the game. Got it?”

I closed my book, gently sliding it into my bag before pushing myself to my feet. My eyebrows shot up with amusement as the boy wandered over to a parked car casually, tugging out his own keys and pressing them to the paint, creating a long scratch on the metal. I laughed silently, crossing my arms and watching the events unfold with a cruel anticipation.

“Hey, hey, hey! Dude, what do you think you're doing to that truck, bro?!” Stiles suddenly yelled, loud and obvious as he could. I pressed my hand over my lips to keep my laughs from getting too loud.

“What the hell?” one of the members of the group to my left asked, outraged as he spied Scott standing with his keys in his hand. I watched as he landed a punch on the shocked wolf's face, sending him falling backwards into the dirt.

I wandered over to Stiles with a grin, the boy wincing in sympathy for his friend as he watched the group of humans beat him up. “Stay calm, stay calm,” he was breathing as he looked on, and I noticed he held the heart monitor in his hand, keeping an eye on Scott's pulse.

“Your ideas just keep getting better and better,” I said, voice coloured with my amusement. Stiles jumped violently, not having seen me approach. He rolled his eyes at me, both of us turning our attention to the boy being savagely beaten before us. It took awhile, but eventually the beeping of the monitor decreased along with Scott's heartbeat. Mr Harris came speed walking out of the doors, making a beeline for the boy who lay bleeding on the concrete.

Stiles fist-pumped the air in victory and I rolled my eyes, secretly kind of impressed. “What the hell do you idiots think you're doing?!” he exclaimed, wheeling around to glare at Stiles and I accusingly. “With me, for detention. Now.” I rolled my eyes, nodding my head at Stiles and strolling passed the teacher, towards the boundary of the school. “Where do you think you're going?” he asked sharply.

I sighed, turning around and locking eyes with the rude, goblin of a man. “I'm going home, and you're not going to stop me.”

“I'm not going to stop you,” he repeated robotically, pupils dilating behind those pathetic glasses he wore.

“Hey!” Stiles called out to me indignantly. “What about us?”

“Not my problem!” I replied over my shoulder. I ignored the boy's irritated grunt, shifting the weight of my bag on my shoulder and turning the corner. I hadn't gotten far, maybe only a couple hundred yards when my phone lit up with a call. “Hello?” I answered it dully, pausing in my fishing for a cigarette.

“I need you to meet me at the animal clinic,” Derek Hale's smooth voice said over the line, not quite a statement, but also not quite a request.

I stopped in my tracks, scowling at a nearby fire hydrant like it was the one I was annoyed with. “How the hell did you get this number?” I asked him, the words layered with ice. The last thing I wanted was the Hale wolf to have my personal number; it was bad enough those two teenage nimrods from school had it, let alone someone with actual problems.

“I think I know who the alpha is,” was all Derek said in reply, knowing it was all I needed to hear.

My lip curled back, revealing my pearly, sharpened teeth, and I sneered at a passing pedestrian, whose pulse stuttered with terror at the bloody quality to my dark, angry eyes.

“I'll be there in ten minutes,” I muttered, bitter and reluctant, to the wolf over the line before hanging up and shoving my phone roughly into my back pocket.

I went home first, dropping off my bag and pulling on a different pair of jeans, ones I would be able to fight in, as well as an old white T-shirt. I pulled my best set of daggers out from the box under my sink, strapping one to each ankle then shoving two into my belt. If I was going to be fighting an alpha tonight, I didn't plan to walk into the fight unarmed. If I did, I might just as well commit suicide then and there.

I shrugged on an old leather jacket I'd gotten off one of my victims in the 70's, one that hid my pretty knives from view, before leaving the house in under two minutes, scowling the whole way out. I took the route through the forest, where I could run at full speed without being seen by any humans.

I got to the clinic a little earlier than I anticipated, pushing open the door just as the sun was sinking down below the horizon. “Derek?” I asked loudly, frowning at the noise the little bell above the door made.

“In here,” his voice rumbled from the back room. I passed the front desk, stepping into the back room I'd been to only once before; when Derek had gotten hit by that bullet only a week or so ago. I blinked in surprise as I caught sight of who I could only assume was the veterinarian, tied to a chair, bound and beaten. I raised my eyebrows in surprise even as I cracked my knuckles, grinning slightly in anticipation of the evening.

Nothing quite made my day like a little bit of light torture.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” I asked with something of a predatory grin, starring down at the unconscious man curiously.

“It's him,” Derek told me from where he was stood against the far wall, watching the dark skinned man for any signs of consciousness, waiting impatiently for him to awake. “I'm sure of it.”

“So, what's the plan, exactly?” I pressed, mirroring his stance. “Torture? Because, if so, you came to the right gal,” I told him with a wide, proud smirk. The bound man gave a small groan, only just beginning to come to. “I won't kill him, though. Not without irrefutable proof,” I added, feeling like it was better to be said. He had to know my limits.

But Derek snorted, his lips quirking upwards like what I'd cracked a joke. “That's not something you hear every day,” he mumbled, blue eyes focused on the man he was holding hostage. “A vampire who _doesn't_ want to kill,” he said like it were the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard.

“Hey,” I snapped, defensive. “I'm totally eager to kill. I just don't want to kill an _innocent._ ”

“Every vampire I've met in the past hasn't had a problem with it,” he countered.

“Well _I_ do,” I bit back, short fuse beginning to burn. Unthinking, I sniffed the air, the monster deep within me rearing its ugly head at the scent of fresh human blood. It was strong and potent, and my eyes immediately shot to the source – a deep gash on our hostage's face – and hunger surged through me like a bolt of lightning, throat suddenly alive with thirst. “I don't think he's the guy,” I told Derek reluctantly.

The wolf bristled, standing up straight. “What? Why?” he asked, brows pulling together in a frown.

“Because he smells _appetising_ , and I've never met a single wolf whose scent hasn't made me want to _vomit_ ,” I told simply.

He opened his mouth to argue the point, but before he could a low groan travelled through the room, coming from the man we had tied up like a criminal before us. I wanted to lick my lips at the scent of his blood, which was coming faster now that his pulse was speeding up, but I held back.

Both the werewolf and I fell silent as the man before us slowly began to come to. His dark eyes blinked open, and something like horror passed through them. I was familiar with seeing that emotion in a human's eyes – I'd seen it countless times before in my victims, before I sucked them dry.

“Oh God,” he muttered, gulping in terror.

“Are you protecting someone?” Derek demanded, and I marvelled at his sheer lack of tact.

“The key to the drug locker is in my pocket,” the veterinarian told us desperately, eyes flickering between us as though he wasn't sure who was in charge. To be honest, neither was I.

“I don't want drugs, I wanna know why you're lying,” spat Derek venomously.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Derek gripped the man by the shoulders, lifting him into the air with an ease that would horrify any human. “Listen, Derek, I think we should take a beat and––” I tried to argue, but the wolf ignored me, shaking the man violently.

“What do you want?” whimpered the veterinarian. I hoped he wouldn't piss himself – I so hated it when they did that.

“I want to know who you are,” growled Derek, his canine fangs making a small appearance. “Or who you're protecting.”

“What are you doing?” Scott's voice shouted abruptly as he appeared in the doorway. I'd been so focused on the interrogation at hand that I hadn't heard him approach. I turned to look at him, one eyebrow cocked.

“Scott, get outta here!” the vet shouted to Scott in a panic. Derek dropped him, striking the human across the face, not bothering to hold back. The man's head snapped to the side, and he gasped in pain.

“Stop!” Scott cried, throwing himself between them, arms held out to protect his boss.

“When he's conscious he can keep himself from healing, but unconscious he can't,” snarled Derek. The bloke had a serious case of tunnel vision, didn't he?

“Are you out of your mind?!” Scott shouted. “What are you _talking_ about?!”

“You wanna know what the spiral means, Scott?” Derek growled. “It's our sign for a vendetta. For revenge. It means he won't stop killing until he's satisfied!”

“You think _he's_ the alpha?” Scott cried incredulously.

“We're about to find out.”

Scott caught Derek's hand before he could inflict any damage. We both stared in utter shock as Scott changed from boy to wolf so smoothly that I almost missed it. Derek took a step back and watched closely as the teen wolf looked down at his own claws. They slowly phased back into his regular fingernails, and the hair along his jaw vanished, eyes glowing a brilliant, piercing amber.

“Hit him again,” Scott warned us darkly, “then you'll see me get angry.”

* * *

You could ask me how we ended up going from there, to where we were now, but to be honest, it was all something of a blur.

“No,” Derek deadpanned as I moved to put my feet up on his dash. I pouted at him, but he just ignored me, steering his sleek black car into school parking lot, empty except for the Stiles kid's jeep. The vet was tied up on the backseat, mumbling into his bindings, probably begging for his life – but I genuinely couldn't have possibly cared any less.

I paid him no mind, eyes flickering through the darkness to meet Stiles' impatient stare as he toyed with the pair of bolt cutters in his hands. Derek's car rolled to a stop and I slid out, arms crossed over my chest, proud to be exuding an air of sheer indifference.

“Where's my boss?” Scott asked testily as Derek slid out after me.

His lip pulled back, and I found myself hoping for a fight. But the tension dispersed just as quickly, and Derek jerked his chin at the backseat of his car. “He's in the back,” he said gruffly.

The two young boys peeked their heads through the open back window, peering down at the unconscious veterinarian. “Aw, he looks comfortable,” Stiles said, utterly sarcastic. He shot me a pointed look, as though expecting me to feel some kind of shame at the comment. I ignored him with laughable ease, letting my eyes scan the area, keeping an eye out for any threats. The last thing I needed was for the alpha, or the hunters to show their faces. A fight sounded good – so long as I wasn't the person doing the swinging.

Scott nudged his human friend, gesturing up to the school we were stood in front of. As one, they both turned towards the looming building, starting up the stairs leading to the front door. “Hey, what are you doing?” Derek snapped, annoyance saturating his tone.

“You said I was linked with the alpha,” Scott said like it were obvious, as though his plan had been perfectly clear all along. “I'm gonna see if you're right,” he told us plainly.

They headed confidently into the darkened school, disappearing inside the building. I didn't care to audibly track them through the halls, letting myself disconnect from the low chatter they were making. It faded into nothing, and I leant back against the werewolf's car, pulling a cigarette from my pocket and slipping it between my teeth.

“Could you not smoke that while you're sitting on my car?” Derek might as well have whined the complaint for how stupid it sounded.

Without breaking eye contact, I lifted my lighter to the stick, lighting the end and pocketing the gadget. I inhaled deeply, then blew it out into the air, silently revelling in his ire. His eyes flashed that shiny blue, and my smirk widened.

“Relax,” I said flippantly. “It's not like I'm _inside_ the thing. Buy an air freshener and grow up.”

I heard a quiet rumble in Derek's chest that I knew to be a growl, but I was unbothered, taking another drag of smoke.

“You know, they might trust you more if you didn't come across as so enigmatic and creepy,” I told him casually. “It's not exactly a winning combination.”

“You're one to talk,” the beta wolf muttered.

“Yeah,” I replied as I exhaled a puff of smoke, “but I don't actually _care_ about earning these kids' trust.”

“Then why're you even here?” he countered smartly.

“I don't have cable.”

We faded back into quiet, which I was content to let stay. I knew we were waiting for something, but I wasn't sure what until _it_ happened.

A loud sort of screech sounded through the school. It was rather like the scream of a banshee – if the banshee had just been gargling nails. “You've gotta be kidding me,” Derek muttered in the voice of an exasperated babysitter, dropping his head into his hands.

“I give him a month,” I muttered to Derek, not really expecting an answer as I looked down at the pavement, kicking idly at a loose pebble.

There was another pause and I tilted my head to try and catch the sounds of them wandering defeatedly back, only for a different sound entirely to catch my attention.

It was a low growl, a haunting kind of a howl that vibrated through my very soul. It echoed through the school's speaker, the sound of it sharp and attention grabbing. Both the wolf and I shot upright.

When a vampire heard a howl like that, our base instinct was to run in the opposite direction. I bristled, ears pricking at every sound, every atom in me screaming to run. It was like a fight-or-flight reaction. I shoved it down with only a little effort, focusing on what was happening in front of me and not the urge to run far, far away.

But my flight instincts weren't the problem. Something much, much worse was on its way. There wasn't a wolf within fifty miles who wouldn't have heard it.

The pair of idiotic boys strolled down the stairs, looking mighty pleased with themselves.

“I'm gonna kill _both_ of you,” Derek snarled at them furiously as they approached. “What the _hell_ was that? What are you trying to do? Attract the entire state to the school?”

“Sorry, I didn't know it'd be that loud,” Scott muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Yeah, it was loud,” Stiles laughed unabashedly. “And it was _awesome_ ,” he sang, a large dopey grin on his innocent face. It annoyed me, made me want to break his nose just so he'd stop smiling.

“Are you out of your goddamn _minds_?” I snarled at him, taking a step closer, fire flickering in my dark eyes. “It's not just one alpha wolf in those trees that you've called to us,” I snapped, glancing to the tree line across the road.

At my warning, the teen boys suddenly looked wary.

“What, uh, like what?” stammered Stiles uncertainly.

When I smirked back, it was edge with the kind of darkness that was born of evil. “There are worse things hiding in the dark than you have any _idea_ about––” I began in a hiss, and it was as much a threat as it was a warning.

“Shut up,” Derek snapped before I could finish the menacing words, and my spine went rigid. We were no longer alone. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I reached down into my boot, sliding one of the two daggers I'd hidden there from its sheath.

“Don't be such a sour wolf –– _why the hell do you have a knife_?!” Stiles shouted in a panic, jerking back as the silver of my blade glinted in the moonlight.

“It's a dagger,” I corrected him primly.

“It's a hazard.”

“What'd you do with him?” Scott asked suddenly, breaking Stiles and I away from our mindless bickering.

“What?” Derek asked sharply, and as one we spun around only to discover the vet was gone, the seat he'd been sitting on empty of life. When had _that_ happened? “We didn't do anything,” Derek insisted, but we had bigger problems than the case of the missing veterinarian.

The sound of paws hitting the earth met my ears, much too close for comfort, and I dove out of the way just as the alpha attacked. When I spun back around to get a good look at it, it was to find Derek with a set of claws skewered through his chest. Blood spurted from his mouth, the scent surrounding me.

I knew I had to get away from the alpha – according to legend, one bite and I was all but dust – but just as I turned to run, I realised the two boys were still standing there, gaping up at the monster before them in horrified shock.

Part of me screamed to leave them to die – it was what I would have done before – but I knew in my cold, dead heart that I couldn't.

A new leaf was a new leaf, and I couldn't just leave these two idiots to die. Not when I could save them. And I knew, without my help, they weren't going to survive the next thirty seconds, let alone the rest of the night.

“Inside,” I shouted at them so abruptly that they flinched. All of this had happened in the span of roughly three seconds, and they were still recovering from the shock of the alpha's appearance.

They stared back at me dumbly, and I growled in frustration. Disappearing from their sight and reappearing near the doors to the school, I yanked the slab of wood open and impatiently waved them through.

Finally gathering their wits, they scrambled towards the entrance, falling over themselves in an attempt to get inside before they became dog food. The pair sprinted inside the relative safety of the school, and I slammed the doors shut after them. They creaked closed with a note of haunting finality, and I knew that they would only keep that monster out for so long before we were all in proper, serious danger.


	8. L'il Red Riding Hood

_What big eyes you have_

_The kind of eyes that drive wolves mad_

_Just to see that you don't get chased_

_I think I oughta walk with you for a ways_

Amanda Seyfried – L'il Red Riding Hood

* * *

“Lock it!” Scott yelled frantically, scrambling to hold the doors shut. “Lock it!”

“Do I _look_ like I have a key?” Stiles snapped back. I rolled my eyes at their bickering, holding the door shut and peering out into the darkness for any hint of glowing red eyes.

“Grab something!”

“What?”

“ _Anything_!”

“Hate to break it to you boys, but locking this door is pointless either way,” I hissed at them, my keen eyes staring out into the dark. The alpha was still nearby. I could feel him; could sense the prickle of his power in the air. “That mutt's getting through this door whether we lock it or not,” I added darkly. And if not this door, then one of the countless others filling the school building. But I didn't add that last bit – I didn't need these morons any more frightened than they already were.

Frightened people made mistakes. They were desperate, and clumsy. And annoying.

“It would make us feel a hell of a lot better than just _leaving it unlocked_ ,” Stiles all but shrieked, wincing when he took note of his volume. He suddenly paused, standing from his crouched position to peer through the smudged glass window at the something sitting on the pavement nearby.

Scott seemed to know his friend better than I did – no surprises there – and his face dropped in horror as he realised what was about to happen. “Stiles, no. Don't!” he cried.

I whipped around to find Stiles trying to prise open the doors in an effort to get outside. Wondering if the kid had some kind of death wish, I reached out without much effort and grasped the back of his shirt, tugging him back inside in one smooth sweep.

“Hey—what the hell?” he cried loudly, stumbling backwards as Scott slammed the door shut after him to be safe. If he was suicidal, fine, but there were plenty of better ways to die than getting mauled to death by a rabid alpha.

“You're crazy if you think you're going out there,” I told him sternly, tightening my hold on his clothes as I kept an eye out for the alpha. There was a tiny part of my brain, just a small, irritating part, that kept kept track of the feel of each of his heartbeats under her touch.

His heart was racing, hot blood coursing through his veins. I grit my teeth against the flare of hunger I felt. That was me, I supposed. Always thinking with my fangs.

“Do you have a better idea?” asked Stiles hotly.

I paused, weighing my options for one long, tense moment before shoving Stiles backwards and away from the doors. I would do it, and if I got bitten and began to die that infamously slow, agonising death, I would use my remaining time on earth to kill the human boy I'd done this for.

“Close the door after me,” I snarled, shifting my weight from foot to foot, nails digging into the flesh of my palms.

“What? _No_ ,” Stiles objected, but I paid him no mind. Scott seemed to agree with my plan, and I vaguely heard Stiles protesting as the teen wolf held him back, but my task was too important to let them distract me.

I ripped open the door before I could change my mind, slipping out into the night air. I didn't wait around to see where the alpha was, sprinting at full speed towards the bolt-cutters.

I scooped them off the ground just as the great beast crawled out from behind Stiles' jeep, drool leaking from its bared teeth. I sucked in a sharp breath as it roared, beginning to gallop towards me like some kind of hungry, radioactive horse. I was at the doors not a moment later, banging on them frantically.

For one split second I thought they might not open them, leaving me stuck out in the open with a murderous werewolf intent on using me to sharpen its teeth, but then they tugged them open, and I slipped through the gap, shoving the tool between the handles the second they were closed. I leant back against the door, holding my breath as I strived to hear the sound of the alpha outside.

The teen boys stared out through the little windows in the doors, searching for the alpha, who had disappeared during all the commotion. The night was suddenly eerily quiet, and I grit my teeth against the chill I felt rattle down my spine.

“That won't hold, will it?” Scott asked once he was sure we had a few moments reprieve, backing away from the doors. I didn't miss the way his hands still shook. I hoped the adrenaline wasn't going to be enough to make him turn. How ironic would it be if, by saving the teen wolf, I only succeeded in giving him the chance to bite me himself?

“Probably not,” Stiles replied shakily.

They turned around, facing the dark and looming school hallway, no doubt wondering what to do next. A howl pierced the silent night, and the boys jumped, scrambling to take cover somewhere safe. I followed them, body tensed, preparing for an attack at any moment. They darted into a classroom, rushing over to the teacher's desk and beginning to push it against the door, only to be stopped by Stiles.

“Stop,” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder at the empty doorway. “The door's not gonna keep it out.”

“I know.”

“It's your boss. Deaton? The alpha? Your boss.”

“No.”

“Yes. Murdering, psycho werewolf.”

“That can't be.”

“Oh, come on. He disappears and then that thing shows up ten seconds later to toss Derek twenty feet through the air?” Stiles argued. Though he had a point, I didn't agree with him. “That's not convenient timing?”

“It's not him.”

“He killed Derek.”

“Derek's not dead. He can't be dead.”

“Blood spurted out of his mouth, okay? That doesn't exactly qualify as a minor injury.” My lips twitched despite the situation, but I focused my concentration on keeping my senses on the lookout for the alpha. “He's dead, and we're next,” said Stiles grimly.

“Okay just … just, what do we do?” Scott asked distraughtly as I leaned out of the doorway, gaze flickering down each end of the corridor, checking for any hint of those glowing ruby eyes. I could feel my gums tingling, fangs edging their way free in response to the danger. But I grit my teeth until the sensation slowly began to recede.

“We get to my jeep,” Stiles said decisively after a long moment. “We get outta here. You seriously think about quitting your job.” He picked up the torch, both boys marching over to the windows, Scott beginning to pull at the latches desperately. “They don't open, the school's climate controlled.”

“Then we break it,” he tried, not sounding very confident in his own suggestion.

“It'll attract too much noise,” I told him from my spot at the door, glancing back out into the hall again cautiously. “If we're going to survive this, it's going to be with stealth. That's our best chance at getting out of this hellhole alive.”

They both paused, considering my words, although I knew they could only agree. “Stiles, what's wrong with the hood of your jeep?” Scott asked suddenly, his voice panicked as he stared at the car in question.

“What do you mean? Nothing's wrong.”

“It's bent.”

“Like dented?” Stiles asked frantically, leaping forward to get a better look at the jeep.

“No, no I mean _bent_.”

“...What the hell?”

Before anyone could say anything else the window to their left smashed. Thinking it was the alpha I shot to the boys' side, a threatening snarl bubbling up from my chest as the two of them dropped to the floor, covering their heads as glass flew all around them. We all relaxed a moment later as we discovered it wasn't a murderous alpha, but rather just a hunk of old metal that was obviously from the hood of Stiles' car. I realised I was in a defensive crouch and immediately straightened, brushing the little shards of glass from my top.

“That's my battery,” Stiles said after a beat, torch light shining on the hunk of metal and wires.

“We need to move,” I said sharply, reaching down and gripping the collar of Stiles' shirt, yanking him to his feet.

“No!” Scott argued, tugging his friend back down to his level, his heart beating so fast it was lucky he didn't turn.

Thankfully, Stiles seemed to understand that I was their best bet at getting out of this situation alive. “We have to move,” Stiles told Scott as calmly as he could, pushing himself back up to his feet.

“He could be right outside.”

“He _is_ right outside.”

“We're wasting time,” I hissed at them, my eyes scanning the shadows outside for the wolf. He was there, I could smell him on the air, feeling his power hum within the shadows.

“Just let me take a look,” Scott insisted stubbornly, not waiting for a reply before getting to his knees so he could peer over the wall below the windows.

“Nothing?” Stiles asked impatiently, his eyes, too, scanning the horizon. “Can we go now?”

“We're too out in the open right here,” I whispered, shifting my weight from foot to foot, eager to get moving again.

Survival 101: never stop moving.

“We're leaving,” I said again when neither of them moved. I grasped them both by the front of their shirts and yanked them forwards. They tumbled out into the hall after me and I let them go, peering down the hall as my catlike eyesight adjusted, allowing me to see through the shadows as clearly as if it were day.

“This way,” Scott said, taking off down the hall in the opposite direction.

“No, no, no. Somewhere without windows,” Stiles replied softly, looking around as he considered his surroundings. My eyebrows raised, surprised that he wasn't a total idiot. Somewhere without windows was exactly the right kind of place to be.

“Every single room in this building has windows.”

“Somewhere with less windows.”

There was a pause as both boys thought. I didn't bother suggesting anything, they knew this school better than I did. “The locker room,” Scott suddenly declared, and I realised he was right. The locker room had the least windows in the whole school.

Stiles nodded and turned to jog down the hall after his friend, keeping his steps as light as he could, minimising the sound of his shoes against the linoleum. “So, any tips?” he asked me as I kept pace with him, watching as Scott led the way through the darkened school.

“Excuse me?” I asked, trying both to listen to him and keep an eye out for the alpha at the same time.

“Well, I assume you have more experience with this sort of situation than we do,” he puffed, pressing a hand to his chest as we rounded a corner, heading down another long hallway. Scott jogged a few paces ahead of us, glancing over his shoulder every few moments. His heart was still racing, but there was no hint of claws, so he had control for now. I hoped it would last.

“This sort of situation?” I echoed Stiles with a tiny smirk of amusement. “Running from murderous werewolves, you mean?”

“Yeah,” the human panted, turning left down another hall when Scott did.

“I tend to keep my distance,” I muttered, loosing concentration on the conversation as I heard the sound of paws hitting the ground when we passed by a bay of windows. I wasn't focused on the conversation at hand, and made a terrible mistake. “One bite and I'm dead anyway.”

I didn't have time to realise I'd said something wrong before Scott was shoving open a door to the right, slipping inside quickly. “Call your dad,” he instructed Stiles in a hiss, glancing around the shadowed room cautiously, like the alpha might appear from behind the bay of lockers and attack.

“And tell him what?” Stiles hissed back, his heart racing. The scent of his blood strengthened with his panic, and I grit my teeth against my own flare of hunger.

“Anything,” Scott responded. “A gas leak, a fire; anything. If that thing sees the parking lot full of cops, it'll take off.”

“What if it doesn't?” Stiles hissed back. “What if it goes completely terminator and kills every cop in sight? Including my dad?”

“They have guns.”

“Yeah, and Derek had to be shot with a wolfsbane laced bullet to even slow him down. Remember that?” Stiles retorted, not wanting to risk his father's life.

Something deep within me admired him, he was willing to risk his life to save that of those he loved. There was once a time I might have felt the same way. I tried to picture myself sacrificing myself for these boys tonight, letting myself get bitten to ensure their survival. I shook my head, no matter how much I wished I was the kind of person who could do that, I knew that the first opportunity I got I was likely to run away, and keep running until Beacon Hills was nothing more than a tiny, insignificant dot on the horizon. It was just in my nature.

“Juliet,” Stiles began, turning to face where I stood leaning against the lockers. My fingers were itching to pull out another cigarette, but there was no time to indulge. Lives were on the line. “What's the chance that this thing will just kill any cops that show up?” he asked me shortly.

“A high one,” I responded dryly, not meeting his eyes through the darkness.

“But he's a werewolf,” Scott muttered, something about the dilemma confusing him. “Surely he knows what he's doing.”

“Like you knew what you were doing that night on the bus?” I countered, raising a single eyebrow at him skeptically.

He dropped his head, acknowledging my point. “We have to find a way out and just run for it,” he decided after a long moment.

“Dude, there's nothing near the school for at least a mile,” Stiles argued in a hushed voice.

“What about Derek's car?”

“That could work,” Stiles nodded after a beat. “We'll go outside, get the keys off his body and then we take his car,” he said decisively.

“And him,” Scott insisted.

Both Stiles and I paused, turning to blink at Scott dubiously. Why should it matter if we took Derek's body with us? It was just a bloodied shell – and they weren't even friends. “Fine, whatever,” Stiles relented with an shrug, and we spun around, heading for the door.

“Stop,” I hissed at the same time as Scott grabbed hold of his friend's arm, pulling the human to a stop. I tilted my head to the side, listening to soft footsteps as they headed towards the locker room.

“What?” Stiles asked in confusion, eyes sliding between us both, gleaming with an edge of fear.

“I think I heard something,” said Scott in a whisper.

“Like _what_?”

Scott shushed him, narrowing his eyes at the door. “Hide,” he commanded, darting backwards and shoving himself into an empty locker.

I glanced over my shoulder, taking in the frozen form of Stiles who stared at the door in horror. I sighed and grabbed the collar of his shirt, tugging open a locker door and all but throwing him inside. He stared at me, shock and something else in his eyes, before I slammed the door in his face. I knew hiding would do me no good – my scent was too strong – so I stepped back into the shadows, hoping I would at least be able to maintain some kind of element of surprise.

The footsteps came closer and I felt the blood drain from my face, preparing to make a change of my own. But before I could fully transform, the door swung open and I slammed myself against the concrete of the wall, holding my breath as I watched the human enter the room.

That didn't make any sense. Why the hell would the alpha turn back into a man to come inside? Surely he knew he was much more likely to win against me as a wolf. I stayed in the shadows, recognising instantly that he couldn't have been the alpha. The alpha, for one, would have known I was there. He'd also have smelt like wet dog. This guy just smelt like disinfectant and aging cheese.

He walked straight passed me, not even glancing at me where I stood in the shadows. My head spun as I caught sight of his jugular pulsing under the thin skin of his neck. If I were to feed from him, I'd be stronger, and I'd have a better chance at getting all of us out of this alive. I wouldn't have to kill him, just a sip would be enough...

I hadn't realised my fangs were starting to descend until the man pulled open the locker Scott was hiding in, both men letting out a scream of fear. I rolled my eyes at how pathetic humans were, stepping out of the darkness and into the light after making sure my human mask was back in place.

Stiles fell out of his hiding place too, yelping along with them. They shushed him desperately, glancing around wildly. “What are you trying to do? Kill me?” the stranger asked, a hand pressed to his chest where his heart was trying to escape its confines. “Both of you – get out,” he barked.

“Will you just listen for half a second, okay?” hissed Stiles.

“ _Not_ okay. Get the hell out of here,” he snapped, shoving the boys towards the door. “Right now!”

“Just one second to explain––”

“Just shut up and go,” he cut Stiles off. I huffed as his mammoth hand wrapped around my shoulder as he threw me out the door. I growled at him but he took no notice, slamming the door shut in my face. I was about to pull it back open and give the guy a piece of my mind, but before I could so much as grab the handle he was slammed up against the frosted glass window, unmistakeable blood splatter spraying the door.

Both the boys behind me gasped, but I just stared at the scene stoically. I tried to conjure up some sympathy for the man, but like always found it impossible to do so; my vampirism and lack of humanity wouldn't let me. I stared unemotionally as the man's silhouette was thrown against the glass, his dying screams of agony echoing throughout the hall around us.

Scott leapt at the door, frantically trying to pry it open to save the man. Stiles moved with his friend, reaching around to pull him off the wall to safety. I saw he was struggling; Scott was one strong werewolf. I wrapped my arm around his bicep, heaving him away from the dying man and dragging him down the hall.

After a moment Scott seemed to get the idea, standing on his own two feet and following Stiles and I, close on our heels as we heard the door get ripped off its hinges. The scent of the man's blood made its way to me and I fought the instinct to turn around and go back to lick it off his remains. Instead I pushed myself faster, rushing down the hall as fast as I dared, not wanting to leave the boys behind just yet. I could afford to stay a little longer. Just a a while, long enough to get them to safety. It was what Myra would want me to do.

The boys scrambled down the hall, Stiles practically falling over himself he was so clumsy. I followed, trying not to be annoyed by the slow pace. They reached the south entrance, Scott pushing on the door hastily only for it to jam, blocked by something on the other side. I tapped my foot impatiently, tensed in morbid anticipation for the inevitable arrival of the alpha. “It's a dumpster,” Scott muttered darkly.

“He pushed it in front of the door, to block us in,” Stiles said with a groan. He turned to me, an expectant and hopeful look on his face. “Can you push it away?”

“Probably not,” I admitted. The thing looked too heavy for even me to push out of the way. Werewolves were, by nature, stronger than vampires. If Scott couldn't get it to budge, I doubted I would.

“Stiles, stop!” Scott exclaimed when his friend began beating at the door, frantically trying to break through. I rolled my eyes. If I couldn't do it, there was no chance in _hell_ that he could.

“I'm not dying here, I'm not dying here,” he was mumbling in a panic, wrapping his arms around himself as we turned to head back down the hallway. I wondered if this was going to turn into some kind of panic attack. I sincerely hoped not – it would only be one more inconvenient thing I'd have to deal with tonight. “I'm not dying at _school_ ,” he insisted strongly, as though he couldn't imagine anything worse.

“We're not going to die!” Scott assured him, but the words were weak, backed up with nothing but hope.

“What is it doing? What does it want?!” Stiles exclaimed, clutching the torch tightly, the light moving back and forth across the hallway.

“Me!” Scott replied nervously. “Derek said it's stronger with a pack.”

“Oh, great. A psychotic werwolf who's into team work. That's-that's beautiful.”

Me lips twitched upwards into a smirk, but I smothered the expression before either could see it. Stiles had this uncanny ability to make me laugh in the most dire of circumstances.

Scott stopped suddenly, throwing out an arm and stopping Stiles soccer-mom style. I blinked, pausing just before running into Stiles' back. I looked up to see Scott staring out the window. I followed his gaze, my eyes narrowing as I caught sight of glowing red eyes attached to a huge bear-like-wolf standing in the shadows on the roof. I curled my lip, about to throw a snarl at it for good measure, when it charged. It sped across the roof, heading directly for us. The boys spun on their heels and booked it down the hall, and I was quick to follow.

Glass shattered behind me as the monstrous alpha threw itself through the bay of windows, crashing into the wall for a moment before I heard it pick itself up and begin to race after us. All thoughts of saving Scott and Stiles flew from my head as I ran, overtaking the panicked boys with ease. I shoved open a door on the right, not caring where it took me.

I didn't bother with the stairs, merely jumping over the rail and landing flat on my feet before taking off again. My only thought was for my own survival – to put as much distance between myself and this wolf as possible.

But I could hear the sounds of the boys following me in the distance, their sloppy footfalls heavy on the stairs. Shame overtook me and I suddenly stopped dead.

What was I _doing_?

This town was meant to be a fresh start for me. One where I became a better person (if such a thing were possible). Leaving these boys to die – which they most certainly would without me – was a dick move, even I could see that. Heading back to that massacre went against every instinct I had. It went against my base DNA.

But it was when Myra's final words began echoing inside my head that I reluctantly spun around and darted back the way I'd come.

Every atom in me was screaming to leave, but for once I ignored my instincts, and I did the right fucking thing.

I followed the sounds of the boys' racing hearts, scowling to myself and already regretting my decision as I found them on a lower floor, pressed up against some lockers, shaking like little girls. “Juliet!” Stiles exclaimed louder than he should have when I appeared in front of them. Hadn't I just been saying something about stealth? “I thought you'd left,” he hissed, eyes wide in surprise.

“I almost did,” I muttered, staring over my shoulder at the staircase, listening closely for any sign that the alpha was near.

“Glad you changed your mind,” he replied, but I ignored him, scanning the shadows, every cell on red alert. “Right, we have to do something,” he continued, glancing around in fear, unable to keep tabs on the beast in the same way that Scott and I could.

“Like what?” asked Scott in a whisper.

“I dunno,” he responded dully and I barely refrained from rolling my eyes. Why suggest a plan without first having a plan? “Kill it? Burn it? Put mental anguish on it? _Something_.”

There was a loud bang from down the hall and both boys practically jumped out of their skin. I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying not to snap at the idiots. They paused, Scott straining his neck to make sure it wasn't getting any closer and Stiles looked deep in thought, glancing around at the room we were at the mouth of.

I hissed at him quietly when he pulled his keys out from his pocket, but he paid me no mind. Suddenly he threw the keys into the room, ducking behind the door and pulling Scott and I with him. I tensed as the beast charged into the room, looking for blood, and Stiles slammed the door on it, locking it with surprisingly deft fingers then with Scott's help shoved a table in front of the door for good measure. They were panting, exhausted from the effort of moving the heavy table, and breathless with fear. I crossed my arms, stepping back and getting ready to move.

The werewolf roared, slamming uselessly against the door. The boys jumped violently at the noise. “Come on,” Stiles urged his friend. “Get across.”

Scott hesitated, glancing into the room wearily before rushing over the table, stumbling ungracefully into a tense Stiles. “What are you doing?” he hissed at his friend when he peered around the corner, trying to get a peek at the beast in the room.

“I just wanna get a look at it,” he said defensively.

“Are you crazy?”

“Look, it's trapped. Okay? It's not gonna get out.”

Stiles climbed onto the table, peering into the small window cautiously as he mumbled to himself. “Shut up,” Scott urged.

“I'm not scared of this thing,” he argued, only for it to slam against the door suddenly, making him jump a foot in the air, tumbling off the table and onto the hard ground. “I'm not scared of you!” he yelled once he'd put himself back on his feet. I rolled my eyes, listening to the sound of his heart racing in his chest. “Right? 'Cause you're in _there_ and _we're_ out here. You're not going anywh––”

A loud crash sounded from the room the alpha was trapped in and we all froze. The roof above us began creaking, the sound of something moving. I took off in the opposite direction, grabbing Stiles' shirt for good measure to tug him along. We raced through the halls, and all of my focus was on keeping tabs on the homicidal alpha. It was stalking us, I could feel it.

“Wait, do you hear that?” Scott said, stopping suddenly in the hall. I froze, tilting my head as I automatically searched for the sound he was talking about.

“Hear what?” Stiles asked in confusion. Tilting my head to the side, brow furrowed in concentration, I blink in surprise when I realised what the sound was.

“It's a phone,” I said, my fingers once again twitching to pull out a cigarette. I clenched my hands into fists, stopping the urge in its tracks. Smoking was a substitute habit for the usual bloodlust, and right now I needed some kind of vice to keep me cool, calm and centred.

“What?” Stiles hissed sharply.

“I know that ring!” Scott gasped. “It's _Allison's_ phone.”

If I wasn't on such high alert, I would have dropped my head into my hands in sheer exasperation. Just what I needed, another heart to keep beating – as if I didn't have enough problems already. We were stuck in the dark, empty high school with a murderous werewolf, and now the hunter's daughter had stumbled into the fray. Could things get any worse?

Scott spun around, slapping his friend eagerly on the shoulder. “Give me your phone,” he barked, and Stiles blinked in surprise.

“Why?”

“Because mine's still broken,” he replied impatiently. Stiles handed over his phone, and the teen wolf tapped away at it, holding it up to his ear and beginning to talk to his girlfriend in hushed whispers, as though the alpha might not be able to hear him if he lowered his voice. Idiot.

My eyes slid away from the panicking teen wolf to focus on Stiles. His heart was pounding at a mile a minute and he flinched at every creak the old building gave in the wind. “You're scared?” I asked before I could stop myself.

Stiles blinked, turning to stare at me with a dubious expression. “Of _course_ I'm scared,” he told me, confusion lacing his voice at my strange question. I supposed, from his point of view, it was a rather stupid thing to say. “Aren't you?” he asked slowly.

A thoughtful frown tugged at my expression. _Was_ I afraid? I hadn't really had time to assess how I felt. I was relatively new to the whole 'emotions' shtick, having had my humanity switch flicked off for so many decades. Every emotion was heightened, intense and almost overbearing. They all just sort of blurred together into one, pressing feeling; hunger.

It was hard to figure out if what I was feeling was fear. I couldn't sweat like humans, my heart couldn't race. There was an odd fluttering in my gut that felt somewhat foreign, and if I had to put it down to anything, fear would be the most logical assumption. “I think so,” I admitted with a grimace, biting my lip as I studied a scuff mark on the linoleum.

“You _think_ so?” he repeated dubiously, raising his eyebrows at me, his heart rate picking up even more. “How can you _not know_ if you're scared?”

I opened my mouth, though I was saved from having to come up with a lie as Scott hung up the phone, stepping closer to where we were hovering and speaking up. “Allison's going to meet us in the lobby,” he said, handing the device to Stiles and taking off without warning, causing his friend to groan in annoyance. I rolled my eyes at the young wolf, following after the two boys. Their footfalls weren't exactly soft as they charged through the school. Those two boys were going to get themselves killed if they weren't careful, I thought with another exasperated roll of my eyes.

“What are you doing here? Why did you come?” Scott asked the instant they noisily shoved their way into the lobby. I was close on their heels, shooting Allison an utterly unimpressed expression for her presence there.

Yet another child to keep from getting slaughtered. What the fuck did I look like to these kids, a supernatural babysitter?

“Because you asked me to,” Allison replied tersely.

“I asked you to?”

Allison frowned, pressing a button on her phone and holding up the small device, letting us read a text that appeared to be from Scott, asking her to meet him at the school. I frowned, eyes glancing upwards as the roof above us creaked. The sound was small, much smaller than anything I expected the alpha to make, so I assumed it was an opossum or something and focused back on the conversation at hand.

“Why do I get the feeling you didn't send this message?” Allison asked Scott carefully, heart now racing in her chest. I could smell her fear on the air, and I grit my teeth against the stench.

“Because I didn't,” Scott told her with a sinking kind of horror.

“Did you drive here?” Stiles asked her impatiently.

“Jackson did,” she told him.

“Jackson's here too?”

“And Lydia,” she told us, and I stifled a groan. Of _course_ those idiots were here – just three more ignorant fucking _humans_ I had to protect. “What's going on? Who sent this text?” Her phone began chiming again and with a sigh she answered it just as I heard footsteps echoing down a hall to our left. “Where are you?” Lydia and Jackson shoved their way into the room, irritated scowls on their pretty faces.

“Finally,” the queen-bee sighed, crossing her arms and jutting out her hip. “Can we go now?”

Another creak echoed from above us and everybody in the room froze. I detected the vibration of power in the air, and realised with a silent sigh that we were in some serious trouble. My entire body tensed as I prepared for a fight.

“Run,” Scott ordered the group, and nobody fought him on it. They all took off running up the stairs, most of them not really sure exactly what they were running from. I was close on their heels; I had the best chance at fighting it off.

I tried not to think about how seriously dead I would be if it managed to bite me, focusing instead on putting one foot in front of the other. We sprinted down the hallway, the massive beast only feet behind us. Scott crashed into the doors at the end of the hall, waiting just long enough for us to fall through before slamming them shut and beginning to shove desks and chairs at the entrance. “Help me get this stuff in front of the door!”

“Scott, wait. No,” Stiles protested, and I immediately spun around, blinking up at the huge wall of windows. A sinking feeling appeared in my stomach and I pressed a hand to it in hopes of lessoning the less-than-delightful feeling. Was this what having emotions felt like? I didn't like it.

“What was that? Scott, what was that?” Allison asked in a panic, pressing a hand to her forehead.

“Just help me!” he yelled, he and Jackson tugging a particularly large piece of furniture in front of the two doors.

“Guys,” Stiles tried again, “just wait a second.” I leant against the board, closing my eyes and wishing I was curled up in bed with a glass of A-positive and a mediocre book. “You guys, listen to me. Will you wait a second?” Stiles began to get more and more agitated as nobody listened. I crossed my arms, tipping my head back so my skull bumped against the board, breathing in deeply through my nose. It only agitated me further as the delicious scents of everyone – bar Scott, who smelt like wet dog on a good day – filled my senses. I clenched my jaw shut tight. “ _Hello?!_ ” Stiles screamed suddenly. Everyone finally turned to stare at him, blinking in surprise at the frustration on his face. “Okay, nice work. Really beautiful job everyone,” he muttered sarcastically. “Now, what should we do about the twenty foot wall of windows?!” he hissed.

All the teenagers deflated, staring up at the wall of glass with frustrated and exhausted expressions.

“Somebody please explain to me what's going on, because I'm _freaking out_ here,” Allison cried suddenly, gripping Scott's arm, pleading with him for answers. “Scott?” she pressed when he said nothing.

The teen wolf pulled away from the girl, marching over to one of the desks and collapsing onto it tiredly. I watched all this happen from my position by the board. “Somebody killed the janitor,” Stiles was the one to speak up, surprising all of them, as they'd been staring at Scott for answers.

“What?” Lydia squeaked, eyes wide with panic.

“Yeah, the janitor's dead,” said Stiles plainly.

“What's he talking about? Is this a joke?” Allison hissed at Scott, who still said nothing. The room began to reek with fear, and I grit my teeth against the stench.

“Who killed him?” the one called Jackson asked firmly.

“No, no, no, no. This was supposed to be over. The mountain lion––”

“Don't you get it?” Jackson cut her off sharply. “There _wasn't_ a mountain lion.”

“Who was it?!” Allison demanded furiously. “What does he want? What's happening? _Scott_?”

“I don't know. I just––if we go out there, he's going to kill us,” said the teen wolf, awkward and hesitant, making me roll my eyes. He needed to learn to lie better than that if he was going to survive being an active member of the super-secret supernatural club.

“Us? He's going to kill _us_?” Allison asked shrilly, her human heart thudding wetly inside her chest. My mouth tingled and my insides suddenly felt dry. I looked away, turning my stare to the wall of windows, hoping to distract myself from the hunger.

“Who? Who is it?” demanded Lydia.

There was a pregnant pause, before Scott sprouted something completely surprising, and just slightly amusing. “It's Derek,” he said with a sudden confidence that made me blink. “It's Derek Hale.”

There was a beat of confused silence.

“Derek killed the janitor?” Jackson asked skeptically.

“Are you sure?” asked Allison carefully.

The humans all prattled on, arguing amongst themselves as humans often tended to. I pressed my fingers to my forehead, breathing through my mouth to try and make their scents less potent to me. In the back of my mind I was cruelly and painfully aware that, if I killed them all right here, right now, I could blame it on the alpha. Nobody would think it was me when Derek's body was already outside, when the janitor was dead in the locker room.

I had to forcefully change my thinking, gritting my teeth and beginning to recite my favourite Edgar Allen Poe poems over and over in my head, in an attempt to distract myself.

“Why does Derek want to kill us?” Allison asked loudly, her voice clear over the panicked muttering of the others. It snapped me out of my murderous thoughts and brought my focus back to the task at hand. “Why is he killing _anyone_?”

Everyone turned to stare at Scott expectantly. “Why is everyone looking at me?” he asked defensively.

“Is he the one that sent her that text?” Lydia pressed, a hysterical edge to her voice.

“No! I mean – I don't know,” he was stumbling over his words, growing frantic under their attention.

“Is he the one that called the police?”

“I _don't know_!”

“Alright, why don't we ease back on the throttle here, okay?” Stiles suggested calmly. He grabbed Scott by the shoulders and carefully steered him away from the rest of the group, lowering his voice so I was the only other person in the room able to hear. “Okay, first up, throwing Derek under the bus? Nicely done,” he muttered approvingly.

“I didn't know what to say. I had to say _something_ ,” Scott hissed back defensively. “And if he's dead, then it doesn't matter. Right? Except if he's not … Oh God, I totally just bit her head off,” he muttered, casting Allison a pathetically anxious look.

I rolled my eyes at the teen drama as Stiles steered the conversation on. “And she'll totally get over it. Bigger issues at hand here. How do we get out alive?”

“But we _are_ alive. It could have killed us already. It's like it's cornering us or something.”

“So what? It wants to eat us all at the same time?”

“No. Derek said it wants revenge.”

“Okay!” Jackson shouted, interrupting their little talk, rather rudely in my opinion. I may have been a bitch, but at least I had manners. What a prick. “Stiles calls his useless dad and tells him to send someone with a gun and aim,” he snapped decisively. “Are we good with that?” he added, voice thick with condescension.

“He's right,” Scott said when Stiles hesitated. “Tell him the truth if you have to. Just call him.”

But Stiles didn't agree. “I'm not watching my dad get eaten alive,” he replied, voice holding a strength I hadn't expected.

“Alright,” Jackson hissed when Stiles didn't move to comply, surging forwards and grasping him by the arm. “Give me the phone,” he demanded, but to everyone's surprise – and no one's more than mine – Stiles suddenly spun around, arm flying almost too quick for even my eyes to see, his fist slamming into Jackson's face.

I gasped in delight, clapping my hands together, a grin spreading across my lips as I watched the asshole sag, holding his face in pain. Allison gasped for a whole different reason, crouching down to see if he was okay.

As everybody else stared at a recovering Jackson, Stiles' gaze slid over to me. I was surprised by the question his eyes held. I wasn't sure what he wanted, but deep in my gut I could tell it was probably some kind of reassurance. I was no good at that sort of thing, but I nodded anyway, hoping it helped the situation somehow. Stiles sighed, running a hand over his short hair before forcefully tugging his phone free of his pocket.

“Dad, hey. It's me,” he said defeatedly into the phone. “And it's your voicemail...look I need you to call me back. Now. Like, right now.” A loud _bang_ echoed around the room, and everybody jumped. Even I flinched, then scowled at the involuntary reaction. “We're at the school, dad. We're at the school,” he said as the banging continued, somebody (or something) trying to bang its way though the doors. I stepped away from the wall, moving closer to the door, hands curled into fists, prepared to fight for my life if it came down to it. Stiles hung up the phone, then glanced over to the door on the opposite end of the room. “The door out of the kitchen leads to the stairwell,” he told us quickly.

“It only goes up,” Scott argued.

“Up is better than here.”

Scott led us, making a dash for the door just as the ones behind us were bashed open. They darted for the stairwell, taking them two at a time in their rush to get to safety. Once we were on the next floor they began desperately jiggling handles, looking for an open door. Jackson found one, and we all spilled into the room. He shoved a chair under the handle, barricading us in. Everyone was silent as we waiting for something to happen. Slow, heavy footsteps passed the door, then disappeared down the hall, along with wet, heavy breathing.

“Jackson, how many people can fit in your car?” Scott asked as loudly as he dared.

“Five, if someone squeezes on someone's lap,” he responded.

“Five?” Allison retorted. “I barely fit in the back.”

“It doesn't matter, there's no getting out without drawing attention,” Stiles murmured.

“Well what about this? This leads to the roof, we could go down the fire escape to the parking lot in like two seconds,” Scott suggested.

“That's a deadbolt,” he responded with a tired blink.

Scott paused, looking down in defeat before brightening up. “The janitor has a key.”

“You mean his body has it.”

“I can get it. I can find it by scent. By blood,” he told us, barely glancing at me.

“Well gee, that sounds like an incredibly terrible idea. What else you got?” Stiles drawled, and I bit back a smirk.

“I'm getting the key,” Scott said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He moved to step passed his friend, but I grabbed him by the arm. I shut my eyes, I couldn't believe I was even _considering_ putting my life on the line for these insignificant morons.

Everyone else argued, saying he couldn't go out there weaponless. I'd have suggested using my daggers, but I didn't want them to know I'd come into this prepared for a fight. It would look too suspicious. Lydia surprised us all by suggesting a self igniting molotov cocktail. I raised my eyebrows at her, then at Jackson as he smashed the glass to the chemical cabinet and they began preparing the homemade weapon.

I leaned back against the board, watching them work disinterestedly. Stiles appeared beside me, and I looked up at him, my expression bored. He jerked his head, motioning for me to follow him. My eyebrows pulled together, but I could see in his eyes that whatever it was was important, so I pushed myself off the wall and followed him to the opposite corner of the room where we wouldn't be overheard by the rest of the humans.

“What?” I asked once we were there, crossing my arms again and leaning back against some shelves nonchalantly. He opened his mouth, pausing and then slamming it shut again, a pensive look on his face. “Spit it out,” I pressed impatiently, glancing over my shoulder at the group by the teacher's desk, mixing together a molotov cocktail.

“I know,” he blurted, and when I looked back his face was scrunched, uncomfortable and maybe just a little afraid.

I blinked at him impassively. “You know what?”

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing with the motion. “I know you're – that you're a … _vampire_ ,” he whispered the last word like it were a curse.

My muscles tenses, and I briefly considered denying it, but I knew by now that he was too smart to fall for that. I'd seen the looks he'd given me, I'd known he was close to figuring it out. I thought I'd have more time to figure out how I'd react. I wasn't expecting him to discover me so soon. I took a deep breath, keeping my expression clear of any emotion as I stared at him through the dark.

He seemed to sense that I wasn't going to say anything, and chose to barrel on. “Is there anything you can do?” he asked, hope clinging to his voice.

Again I had to wonder exactly how far I was willing to go for these kids. “Not without risking my own life,” I finally said, the words short and terse.

Stiles frowned, glancing over at Jackson who was eyeing us suspiciously, as though we might have been forming some sort of alliance over here in this corner, planning to sacrifice him at the first opportunity. The thought made me smile, however small. Stiles turned his attention back to me, a saddened, panicked sort of look in his honey-like eyes. I pursed my lips, the expression making me uncomfortable. People didn't tend to ever really _need_ me for anything. It was a strange sensation, to be needed.

“I'm fast,” I admitted, turning my gaze to the far wall so I wouldn't have to look into his overly-expressive eyes. “Faster than Scott. And certainly faster than the alpha.”

“That's something,” he said, hope colouring his voice. “Right?”

“One bite, Stiles,” I replied tensely, chancing a glimpse at him. His brows were drawn together, and his heart was pounding away in his chest. “One bite and it's game over for me.”

“It's the same for everyone though,” he whispered, taking a step closer to me. “We're all risking our lives.” I stared at him stonily, my teeth grinding together in my mouth. “Listen,” he began again, moving closer to me still. I leaned away from him, but he didn't seem to notice. “Out of everyone here, I'm betting you have the best chance at beating the thing.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, holding my breath to avoid taking in his scent. “What makes you think that?” I asked carefully.

He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck and considering his words carefully before speaking. “I think you're old,” he finally said, and I raised an eyebrow at him.

I may not have been human, but that wasn't something you ever really said to a woman's face, no matter the species.

In the darkness, Stiles' face went a blotchy pink. “What I mean is – I think you've been around a long time. Am I right?” he asked quickly. I didn't reply, biting my lip and continuing to stare at him blankly, my face giving nothing away. But he seemed to sense the answer I wasn't giving. “Which _means,_ you have experience dealing with this sort of thing,” he said firmly.

He was right, in a way. I'd never been trapped inside of a high school with a bunch of kids trying to fend off a murderous alpha, but I _had_ fought my fair share of werewolves in my time.

“So, given the opportunity, could you beat him?” Stiles asked me softly, frowning worriedly as his gaze flickered to the group working by the table.

I pressed my lips together tightly. “It's a toss of a coin, really,” I told him, glancing away and fixing my eyes onto the wall behind him, not wanting to look in his stupid, hopeful eyes as I spoke. “We're most likely pretty evenly matched, the outcome will come down to circumstance. Luck.”

He nodded as he considered my words. “You have to try, though.”

My lip curled as I snapped my gaze back to him, and his heart leapt at the fury in my expression. “I don't _have_ to do anything.”

He blinked, apparently something about my words surprised him. Suddenly, a steely resolve lit up in his eyes and he took yet another step closer to me, this time so close I could feel his breath on my face. “You could have run away at any point tonight,” he hissed, staring down directly into my eyes, no hint of fear in his eyes. “You're still here. There _has_ to be a reason why.”

This time I was the one surprised. Why _had_ I stayed? I didn't care whether these children lived or died.

Did I?

“Lock it behind me,” said Scott suddenly.

“Wait,” I bit out before I could talk myself out of it, an annoyed scowl curling at my lips. Stiles looked down at me with wide eyes, and I pursed my lips before reluctantly speaking. “You can't go alone,” I said, crossing the space between us, meeting him at the door. My eyes flickered over the people in the room with barely concealed distain. “I'm coming with you,” I announced flatly.

“What?” he blinked in surprise.

“Trust me, it's better for everyone if you just go with it,” I muttered, still bitter about the situation I'd found myself in. “Now let's hurry up and leave before I change my mind.”

“You can't be serious,” Allison breathed, pressing a hand to her head as though to hold back her own panic. “Scott's one thing. But _you_? You can't weigh more than a hundred pounds! You don't stand a chance.”

Her lower lip quivered and she sniffled pathetically. I rolled my eyes, reaching behind me and pulling the two daggers from the waistband of my jeans out, twirling them in my hands, maybe showing off just a little. Lydia stepped back in shock at the sight of the weapons, and Jackson stared back at me, unimpressed.

“Why would you bring weapons if you didn't know this would happen?” Allison asked me suspiciously, a tear of terror sliding down her porcelain cheek.

“I always carry daggers,” I lied with a shrug, stepping forwards and shoving Scott along gently. He looked over his shoulder longingly at his girlfriend and I rolled my eyes, pushing him closer to the door. He turned back around, unlocking the door and sliding out into the dark hall.

I slipped through the gap, turning around as I stepped out of the doorway and blinking in surprise as I saw Stiles was only inches from me, preparing to close the door after me. “Be careful,” he breathed so quietly I was sure only Scott and I could hear. “And whatever you do … don't get bitten.”

I bit back a sarcastic reply, merely nodding my head with one jerky motion and moving further into the hall, daggers held up in front of me as the door bumped shut and the lock clicked into place. I rolled my neck in a circle and it cracked, the sound echoing through the shadows of the hall. Scott opened his mouth to say something to me and I shook my head, pressing a finger to my lips. He nodded, moving forwards through the darkness, keen eyes searching for any hint of the alpha.

Again, I was hit with the knowledge that I could just _run_. The chances of the alpha catching up to me were slim to none, it was the only way I could be certain I wouldn't die in this fucking, godforsaken high school. But, unfortunately for me, Stiles was right. I could have run, and I hadn't yet. Obviously there was a reason why.

I crept behind Scott, my footsteps barely making a sound against the linoleum floor as we walked down the stairs, quietly pushing our way through the door to the first floor.

Scott's nose was better than mine, so I let the teen wolf lead, hovering close to his back. He padded into the gymnasium, slowly making his way under the seats, stepping over the metal supports and sniffing the air every few moments. I followed him silently, tensing up every time the seats creaked. I took a deep breath in to help relax me, but immediately froze.

Blood. I could smell it in the air.

My gums tingled, my eyes and throat burned and my muscles coiled. I hadn't realised how hungry I was until I caught the irresistible scent of the liquified life exposed to the air. Scott stopped dead ahead of me, slowly looking upwards. I copied the action, heat flaring through me as I caught sight of the janitor's bloodied corpse hanging from the supports. I shoved down the urge to feed, shifting my weight to the balls of my feet, prepared to at any moment fend off an attack.

The boy caught sight of the keys and set down the molotov cocktail, pulling himself up to reach them where they hang from the man's belt. Before he could grab them, the seats started to collapse in on themselves; somebody was clearly doing it on purpose. I grasped Scott by the arm and wrenched him from his spot on the supports. Luckily for us he'd gotten the keys, and he swooped down to grab the cocktail before hightailing it outta there. I made it to safety before him, knives held up and ready to attack. He rolled out into the open, immediately leaping to his feet.

A deep growling from the other end of the building rumbled through the room, and we both spun around to face the source. I allowed my face to change, veins crawling up my cheeks and fangs sliding from my gums. I snarled in warning, Scott flinching at the feral sound before gathering himself and glaring determinately at the alpha. I idly spun the daggers in my hands, watching as the beast crawled towards us, saliva dripping from its clenched, bloodied muzzle.

“Come on,” Scott muttered, shifting his weight anxiously from foot to foot. “Come and get us.”

The thing charged towards us, but before it could get close enough to land any hits Scott threw the molotov cocktail at it. I was expecting it to blow up, so I was greatly disappointed when nothing happened other than the glass shattered and the liquid inside spilled everywhere.

“Shit,” I mumbled as the monster roared, undeterred as it moved towards us. It had no interest in me, reaching for Scott as he turned to run, tripping him and pulling him closer to him, the boy sliding hopelessly across the floor.

I hissed, my fangs biting into my lower lip as the beast reared around to face me. It swiped at me but I dodged the attack with ease, using the moment of confusion to my advantage by slicing it across the chest with one of the daggers in my hand. It growled, my cut nothing more than an irritation, and with one swipe of its paw shoved me out of the way. I scowled as I hit the floor, my head banging against the hard ground. Black spots danced in my vision as I pushed myself to my feet.

I was too late. It was already hovering over Scott, staring at him intelligently before letting out a mighty howl. I winced, slapping my hands over my ears as the sound vibrated through me. After a long, painful moment it stopped and leapt over a convulsing Scott. I knew what had happened; it had been a command, an order to shift. I knew Scott was no longer in control of himself, so staying around him wasn't an option for me. I turned, following the path the alpha had taken through the school, ignoring Scott's pained screams from behind me.

I was faster, and caught up to it with relative ease. I overtook it, sliding in front of it and blocking its path. “Hello, mutt,” I said as we both paused. It growled, dipping into a defensive crouch. I copied the action, ready to fight.

Without any warning it lunged at me. I slipped out of the way, appearing on its other side and stabbing it in the chest with a dagger. It groaned but recovered almost instantly, spinning around and opening its jaws wide, preparing to bite me. I dodged out of the way again, punching it in the eye and jumping back. It snarled, and I snarled right back, flashing him my pearly white fangs. It made another move to bite me, and I ducked under its jaw. While I was distracted with trying to keep its teeth from sinking into my flesh, it managed to land a hit on my torso.

I was slammed back into the lockers, my head hitting the metal hard enough that I knew I'd have a concussion. I winced, falling to the ground. The alpha turned on its heel and ran, disappearing down the hall before I could stand and catch up. Clearly it didn't care enough to stick around and finish the job, but I wasn't about to complain.

I looked down at myself, frowning in confusion as I saw red seeping through my white t-shirt. The monstrous bastard had scratched me.

I moved to sit up, but almost immediately fell back down as a searing pain rocked through me. I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to muffle my screams. Scratches from an alpha werewolf were just as bad as bites in the pain department, the only difference being it probably wouldn't kill me – just hurt like a bitch and take forever to heal. I moved a shaky hand to the hem of my top, slowly pulling it up to view the damage.

I had three deep gashes running from just under my breast down diagonally across my stomach and ending at my hipbone. I hissed as I touched them, they felt like they were on fire, bleeding excessively. At this rate I was going to pass out from blood loss before I had a chance to get to safety.

I couldn't move if I wanted to, all I could do was press my hands to my stomach and pray my healing would kick in enough to stop the blood flow. It could have been hours, though it was probably only minutes later, when I heard the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs to my right. I opened my eyes, frowning as I didn't remember shutting them, and looking up with fuzzy vision as the figure of a person ran towards me.

“Oh my God, oh my God, _oh my God,_ ” the familiar voice of Stiles muttered, dropping to his knees and sliding the last few feet towards me, coming to rest at my side. “Are you okay?” At my weak glare he winced, nodding his head. “Right, stupid question.” His hands hovered above my body, like he wasn't sure what to do with them. “I'm gonna be sick,” he said as he looked down at his knees which were covered in blood from the puddle on the floor. “Are you gonna die?”

“No,” I grunted, grasping his arm with my hand, doing my best to ignore the beating of his human pulse beneath his pale skin. “Help me up,” I ordered him sharply.

“I really don't think you should stand––”

“Help. Me. Up.”

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he scrambled to his feet, reaching down and unsteadily pulling me upright. I wobbled, hissing at the flare of agony that ripped across my torso. “Shouldn't you be healing?” he asked under his breath as he gently tugged me down the hallway, towards where I could hear the sounds of the police beginning to sweep the building. “Wait, you _can_ heal, right? Because I read some lore that said you couldn't because technically you're dead––”

I wrenched myself out of his arms, a furious scowl on my lips. I pressed one hand to my bleeding stomach, the other to the wall to help me balance.

“I have to go, nobody can see this blood, or they'll ask questions I can't answer,” I told him hurriedly, freezing as I heard footsteps heading towards where we were standing.

“You can't leave,” he hissed, stepping closer to me but immediately shifting backwards under the strength of my glare. “Lydia, Allison and Jackson have seen you, and they probably already told the police.”

“Well, what the hell do you expect me to do?” I growled, blinking away the black spots from my vision and focusing on him. I took a deep breath in, flinching at the pain rippling across my torso. “Let the paramedics examine me and realise I don't have a heartbeat?”

Stiles looked contemplative for a long moment as I anxiously listened to the sound of footsteps only a hall over from us. “I have a sweater in my locker,” he said suddenly, spinning around on his heel and disappearing around a corner. I blanched, blinking at the empty air in front of me. That little prick had just _left_ me.

A door at the end of the hall pushed open and a deputy ran in, spotting me instantly and darting over to help me. “Are you alright, miss?”

“Go to the other side of the school,” I commanded him, struggling to keep our eyes locked as I performed my little party trick. “Forget you saw me here.”

“Yes ma'am,” he responded obediently, turning on his heel and marching back down the hall in something of a daze.

I sagged, already exhausted. I was weak, and was only going to get weaker. One deputy? No problem. An entire crowd of police and paramedics? _Slight_ problem.

“Hey,” Stiles said, reappearing in front of me. I blinked vacantly, not having noticed him approach. He held out a handful of black fabric, “I spilt coke on it the other day and left it in my locker to dry but forgot to get it after school.” I swayed on my feet, trying to make my lips move so I could tell him I didn't care. “Whoa, okay,” he mumbled, pressing his empty hand to my shoulder to steady me.

I shrugged him off, tentatively reaching for my shirt and slowly – and painfully – peeling it off my body. I hissed in pain as the fabric rubbed over my wounds but didn't stop until it was over my head. I handed it off to Stiles, who had gone bone white. I wasn't sure if it was the sight of my lacy white bra or the three deep gashes slicing across my body. Probably a combination of both.

I handed him the blood soaked shirt, taking the black sweater from him and hesitantly slipping my arms into the holes, zipping it up over my injuries carefully. “Toss it,” I told him quietly, shoving the feeling of the pain into the back of my mind, forcing myself to stand straight and confident, so hopefully nobody would be able to tell that I was hurt.

“What?” Stiles asked unintelligently.

I rolled my eyes. “The bloodied shirt, Stiles,” I said tightly, glancing down at the red stained fabric pointedly. “Toss it into the bottom of a trashcan where they won't find it.”

He nodded, hurrying over to the far wall and slipping the shirt into the bottom of the can. I took a deep breath in, immediately clenching my teeth together as I was once again surrounded by the boy's mouthwatering scent. Why did he have to smell so damn delicious?

We made our way towards the main entrance, but didn't get there before Stiles' father – the Sheriff – appeared on front of us, pulling his son into a warm embrace. “Are you okay?” he asked worriedly, cupping his hands around the boy's shoulders and holding him away so he could look him over, checking for injury. “Are you hurt?”

“I'm fine, dad,” he told his father, who continued to eye him carefully, as though he wasn't sure he believed him.

Finally the Sheriff just nodded, pulling his son into another hug before letting him go, his eyes sliding over to me, as if only just noticing I was there. “Juliet, right?” he asked, also looking me over, assessing the damage. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, sir,” I lied with a nod.

He nodded back, shooting me a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Come on,” he said, leading us out of the school. I glanced back up at the dark, looming building behind us.

In a way, I was proud of myself. I hadn't run. I'd done exactly what Myra would have wanted me to. I'd stayed, and I'd fought, and I'd done the right thing. I hoped, suddenly, that wherever Myra was, she was proud of me too.


	9. Heroes

_You're not a hero, you're a liar_

_You're not a saviour, you're a vampire_

_Sucking the life out of all the friends you've ever known_

Heroes – All Time Low

* * *

Getting to Stiles' house wasn't a problem. I slid through the trees and jumped onto the second storey, perching at his window, peering in through the darkness. He wasn't asleep, despite it nearly being daylight. I could hear his father's snores from down the hall. Stiles was sat at his desk, hand supporting his head as he stared down at an old textbook, lazily flipping the pages every few moments. I hesitated, unsure what I was even doing there. Was I there to threaten him? To yell at him? To kill him?

That last one seemed unlikely, but I was known for my unpredictability.

Despite my hesitancies, I tapped at the window, holding myself up with the awning and trying not to cringe at the pain that flared across my middle. Stiles gasped and spun around, a baseball bat all but appearing in his grasp. I supposed the events of the past twenty-four hours had a deeper impact than I had first assumed. He stared at me through the glass, shock and distrust on his face. After a tense moment he stood, although he kept a tight hold of the bat, and moved over to his windowsill. He unlatched the lock and I grasped the bottom, sliding it up and slipping through the gap, landing gracefully on the floor of his room. I was thankful I'd already received an invitation inside, pressing a hand to my painful injury and trying not to groan when it stung even more under my touch.

“Are you okay?” was the first thing he asked, staring at me with wide, sincerely worried eyes.

I paused, staring back at him evenly, considering how to reply. “I will be,” I decided to say, shifting my weight from foot to foot.

Stiles swallowed, glancing to the ground and running a hand over his short hair before asking, “Are you going to kill me?” I blinked. I hadn't been expecting that. He twisted his hands in front of him anxiously, watching me wearily.

_Was_ I going to kill him? It would be easy to get rid of him, then there was no chance of finding out who and what I was, no chance of the hunters coming after me, no chance of me getting myself killed in this pathetic, unimportant little smear of a town. “I haven't decided yet,” I told him, letting go of my wounded stomach and crossing my arms over my chest.

His heart thudded in his chest, beating against his sternum like it was trying to break free of its cage. I knew the feeling.

“I'm not going to tell anyone,” he said quickly, just a touch of desperation to his voice. “I mean, I've already told Scott, but neither one of us will tell _anyone_ , I swear it. Also, it would be stupid to kill me, because I'm the sheriff's son, and the last thing you'd want is anyone finding DNA evidence of you on my body.”

“Who says there'll be a body?” I countered, raising a single eyebrow at the nervous boy.

“Well—well I can help you,” he stuttered, clearly grasping at straws in an attempt to convince me to spare him. “Yeah,” he nodded, becoming more sure of himself as he went on. “Yeah, I'll help you. You need Scott, right? He's your way in to the hunters, and your way to getting the alpha. Anything happens to me, there's no chance in hell he'll help you. So, you see, I'm more valuable to you alive than––”

“How'd you figure it out?” I interrupted him, swiftly growing tired of his rambling.

He stopped, blinking at me stupidly for a moment before scratching his ear and beginning to ramble once again. “Well it was a lot of things really. Like when you came to my house you had to be invited in, and the fact you can compel people – which I know for a _fact_ werewolves can't do – then there was also the time I caught you smuggling blood out of the hospital, the fact you lack a heartbeat, and the way you sometimes speak like you're from another era––”

“I get it,” I snapped, rolling my eyes and striding over to his bed, perching on the end and folding my legs under me. “I've been shitty at keeping it a secret.”

“Not necessarily,” he mumbled, tentatively sitting down in his desk chair, eyes never straying far from my face. “I mean, nobody else noticed. So I guess I'm just more observant than most people.”

We were silent, each of us staring at the other. It wasn't awkward, just a little tense; each wondering what to say next.

“How old are you?” he asked suddenly, paling when my expression hardened into a glare. “Uh – I mean, unless that's too personal...” he trailed off unsurely.

“I'm 203.”

He looked floored by my admission, blinking those large, stupid brown eyes at me for a long moment. He seemed to be struggling to find words, but I wasn't in the mood to think of some for him, so I just watched him impassively. I could practically see the cogs turning in his head as he figured out what else to say.

“Garlic.”

I wasn't sure what I had been expecting, but that wasn't it. I had the feeling he had trouble concentrating on just one subject at a time. I didn't mind. To my surprise, I actually _knew_ what he was on about. “Not a problem,” I answered him with a shrug, grimacing as pain vibrated through my body at the movement.

“Mirrors?”

“Myth.”

“Crucifixes?”

“False.”

“Coffins?”

“Not since the nineteenth century.”

“Huh,” he hummed, crossing his arms and staring at me with a considering expression. He looked like he wanted to know more, like he had a thousand more questions, which I'm sure he probably did. I was having trouble focusing on the conversation at hand. Waves of nausea were rolling through me, and it hurt to breathe. “Are you okay?” he asked after a pregnant pause, the wheels of his chair squeaking as he cautiously rolled closer towards me.

I wondered how he could stand to be so close to me, now knowing what I was, but I didn't have the strength to ask.

“No,” I told him truthfully, letting my eyelids flutter closed as I took short breaths so the movement wouldn't hurt me as much. I burrowed deeper into his sweatshirt, which I had yet to take off. I opened my eyes, frowning as the world suddenly tipped forwards.

“Whoa,” Stiles mumbled quietly, shuffling forwards and catching my shoulders, propping me back into a sitting position. “Why'd you come here if you were so badly injured?” he asked, sounding annoyed. “This conversation could have waited until morning, you know?”

“Why won't you tell anyone?”

“Hm?” he said, popping his head back up to look at me through narrowed eyes.

I didn't have too much control over what I was saying. All I wanted to do was sleep, but I knew I had to get answers before I'd be able to get any sort of rest. “Before, you said you wouldn't tell anyone,” I told him, moving my hands up and placing them over his on my shoulders, ignoring how warm his skin was and focusing my attention on his coffee coloured eyes. “Why not? What are you getting out of this?”

“Why would I be getting anything out of it?” he asked, a crease of confusion forming between his brows.

I frowned back, my head tilting to the side as I examined him carefully. “Why else would you be so nice to me?” And then, as though he'd suddenly forgotten, I reminded him, “I'm a _vampire_.”

“Hey, none of that vampires-are-second-class-citizens crap,” he said jokingly, his pale lips twitching up into a smile.

I didn't indulge him with a smile of my own, frowning at him stoically. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. What did he want from me exactly? Why did he care? There had to be an ulterior motive. The amused expression on his face melted away, and he frowned in a way that I would almost describe as _sad_.

“Why are you so sure I have an ulterior motive?” he asked, practically reading my mind. I sagged, unable to hold myself up any longer. “Whoa,” he muttered, catching me again, this time standing up and gently pushing me onto my back. I lay on his bed, blinking dazedly up at his cream ceiling. “You need to sleep … Wait, _do_ vampires sleep?”

“Of course we sleep,” I said sluggishly, my eyes stinging as I forgot to blink. I let them shut once more, sighing tiredly and nearly rolling onto my stomach before a flash of pain reminded me of my injuries. “I can leave,” I said softly, without opening my eyes.

“Don't be ridiculous,” he snapped, though not unkindly, moving away from me with his feet thudding against the carpet. He returned a moment later and I felt him lay something soft and warm over me. I sighed again, a content smile spreading across my lips.

“Am I bleeding?” I asked as I felt him sit down on the edge of his bed.

“You – you want me to...”

“Lift up my shirt and tell me if the bleeding's stopped,” I murmured softly, the words spoken without my usual bite. I heard him swallow loudly, and he peeled back the blanket, hands shaking as he grasped the hem of his sweatshirt. “I think I figured out your ulterior motive,” I said as he hesitated before slowly lifting the material. “You just wanted to get me into bed.”

He spluttered suddenly, letting go of the fabric and all but leaping back. “What?!” he squeaked. “You _told_ me to lift up your shirt––”

“Stiles,” I said, my eyes opening just enough to peek at his panicked face. “I'm fucking with you.”

He froze and I smiled, letting my eyes slide shut again. I felt more than saw him shake his head, a huff leaving his lips. After a long moment he grasped the hem of his sweatshirt, pulling it up to the base of my breasts. He didn't say anything for a long time, his breath unsteady as he stared down at my injury. Finally, I felt his hand touch the skin to the side of the gashes, and he gasped sharply, pulling away.

“Sorry,” I said with a grimace. “I know I'm cold.”

“Uh,” he uttered, swallowing again. “That's—that's not––”

“It's okay, Stiles,” I cut him off, frowning once more before I slowly and painfully pushed myself to my elbows, forcing my eyes open. “I'll let you get some sleep.”

“No!” he exclaimed suddenly, too loudly. I heard his father's snores pause for a moment in the room over, then resume at full force. I raised a single eyebrow at him, wincing in pain as the position I was holding myself in made my gashes burn. “I mean,” he began, shifting back slightly on the bed and looking anywhere but at me. “You don't have to go. Its been a rough, scary night, and—and your wounds could get worse or something. So—so I think it's better if you stay, just for a few more hours,” he stuttered in a way that a few days ago I would have called pathetic.

I got the feeling he was asking less for my benefit and more for his own. Surprisingly, I didn't mind.

I knew calling him out on it was a bad move, plus I didn't have the strength for an argument. So I nodded and let myself collapse back onto his bed. I couldn't blame the kid for not wanting to be alone after a night like the one we'd just had, to be completely honest, I didn't particularly want to go back to my empty house either. It was stupid, I knew logically that if the alpha were to attack again, Stiles would be more of a hindrance than a help. But, a small part of me felt better having him with me. The boy who made me smile.

* * *

I tapped the egg against the side of the pan a little too hard. Yolk splashed onto the stove top and I cringed. I usually had a good handle on the whole super-strength thing, but some things, like eggs, were kind of a guessing game. I cussed loudly, picking out another one and tapping it lightly against the rim of the pan. It cracked violently, but not too much that it fell out of my hand. I managed to angle it onto the hot face of the pan. I watched the yolk bubble for a few seconds before picking up a third egg and cracking it softly once more, this time landing perfectly in the pan.

I nodded to myself reassuringly, frowning considerably before picking up the bottle vegetable oil and upending it, letting it dribble out onto the eggs. I'd seen a celebrity chef do it once on television, but I didn't quite understand the mechanics behind it. Either way I put down the oil and picked up the fork, looking at it with focused frown before running it through the mixture in the pan. It mixed together, bubbling up and becoming an unappetising yellow colour. Did humans really eat this stuff?

“What are you doing?” a familiar voice asked amusedly from behind me, and I jumped violently, spinning around so quickly that my elbow knocked into the handle of the pan, flipping it over and causing the contents to spill down my arm.

“Fuck!” I cursed loudly once again as my skin got smeared with the boiling oil.

“Oh my God,” Stiles breathed, rushing forwards and picking up the pan, putting it back on the stove top and pushing my hand under the tap, which he turned on full blast, letting it douse my burnt arm. “Are you okay? Holy shit.”

“Stiles,” I said meekly, pulling out from his hold and picking up the towel I had set aside earlier. “It's okay.”

“Okay?” he asked dubiously, staring at me with wide, alarmed eyes. “You just spilt searing hot oil all over your arm!”

“Stiles,” I repeated calmly, holding out my reddened arm for him to see. Slowly, I dragged the towel down my injury, and he watched in morbid fascination as the burn disappeared with the path of the cloth. “See?” I said, glancing down at my unblemished skin. “All healed.”

He looked kind of pale, but I decided not to comment, moving back over to the pan and staring forlornly into its depths. “What were you trying to do?”

“Cook breakfast,” I admitted with a frown, pursing my lips and furrowing my brow.

“...Why?”

“Um, you let an injured, dangerous, volatile vampire sleep in your bed while you barely got any sleep on your desk chair?” I replied, turning my frown around on him. “I might be kind of new at this whole friendship thing, but it seemed like the right thing to do.”

Thankfully he said nothing about the casual admittance of considering him a friend. His gaze moved from me to the blackened mess in the pan. “When was the last time you cooked?” he asked hesitantly, lips curled like he wanted to smile again but was fighting the urge.

“1997,” I told him with a frown, lips twisting at his incredulous look. “I haven't recently had the occasion.”

He snorted, gently pushing me aside and taking my spot at the stove, picking up an egg and lightly cracking it into the pan. “So what've you done with your time then?” he asked casually, though I could sense his burning curiosity underneath it all. “How does one spend eternity?”

I considered lying, making it sound more glamorous than it actually was, but what was the point? I knew one thing for sure, I definitely wouldn't be telling him of my rebellious years, the years where I'd taken so much life, drunk so blood it could fill a swimming pool. I wondered if my answer would satisfy him.

“I spent some of it in school,” I said as I slipped into a chair by the bench, idly picking at my nail polish as I talked.

“And by school, do you mean high school?”

“No way,” I said with an unexpected laugh, making him glance over at me with a confused frown. “College.”

“What'd you study?”

“A little bit of everything,” I told him, smiling as I recalled my college days. I might have still been bloodthirsty and violent, but there was nothing quite like a college campus to make you feel at home. Plus, frat-boys always made for an easy meal. “Music, medicine, art, psychology, biology, chemistry, law,” I listed off just a few.

He smiled a little, as though something I'd said had surprised him. “And what was your favourite?” he asked as he worked on the eggs.

I pressed my lips together. Telling him the truth felt dangerous, almost intimate, but I knew this was how friendships were meant to go. You were meant to share something about yourself, then get something about them in return. It was a balance. “Literature,” I confessed. “We might sleep, but we don't need nearly as much as you humans do, so I spent a lot of my nights reading.”

“What do you read?”

“Everything,” I said as I watched him pull bacon bits from the fridge and sprinkle them into the yellow sludge in the pan. “Biographies, Hemingway, Dickens, Emily Rodda, Edgar Allen Poe ––Kurt Vonnegut is one of my absolute favourites. Not to mention good old J.K.”

“Harry Potter?” he asked incredulously, stopping what he was doing and wheeling around to fix me with a dubious look. “You're kidding.”

“No?” I responded in confusion, tilting my head at him curiously.

“A vampire that reads Harry Potter,” he said mostly to himself, a small, amused smirk resting on his pale pink lips. “Don't tell me you read Dracula too.”

“Are you going to kick me out if I tell you I read it every Halloween?” I asked with a matching smirk, and he laughed loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls, filling me with a strange sort of warmth.

“So why high school now?” he asked me after a long moment.

I considered my answer carefully. Telling him about Myra was far more intimate than I was ever going to go with this – or any – human. I couldn't talk about it, couldn't be honest about myself and my family in the way I wanted to.

“I just didn't want to have to move again so quickly,” I told him, lying only by omission. “I wanted to put down roots, make some friends, be somebody.”

“I bet you didn't factor a rouge alpha problem and a teen wolf into your plans when you picked Beacon Hills to move to,” he replied with a cheeky grin, bending to slide two plates out of the cupboard to his right. I didn't say anything about how I hadn't been planning to eat, keeping quiet instead. I didn't want to make him feel awkward, so I watched him load both plates up without saying anything, no matter how unappetising the food looked.

“I don't mind actually,” I admitted. “Keeps me from going stir crazy.”

He slid the plates onto the counter in front of us, dragging a chair across the tiles, the screeching sound making me wince. He handed me a fork as he took a seat on the bench opposite me, instantly digging into his breakfast.

“So what do you do about ID?” he asked curiously after a moment, barely noticing I'd yet to touch my food. “I mean, surely you need to it enrol in school and stuff.”

“I know a guy on the east coast,” I told him with a shrug, not minding that I was telling all of this to the Sheriff's son. I knew in my gut that he wouldn't say anything. If he wasn't going to dob me in for being one of the undead, I doubted a few broken laws was going to push him over the edge. “He does all my papers for me.”

“Can you get me a fake ID?” he asked immediately, eyes going wide, a piece of egg falling from his lips and onto the counter.

“Yes.”

“ _Will_ you?”

“No.”

He crinkled his nose at me, reminding me for a second of a bunny, before he dug back into his meal, apparently getting over it quickly. “You haven't touched your food,” he said after a long pause, half his plate already eaten. I picked up the fork again, nudging the mess with it cautiously. “Don't tell me you can't eat.”

I shook my head. “I _can_. I just … don't.”

“Don't you like human food or something?” he asked curiously, tilting his head at me.

I shrugged, not really having an answer. “Some vampires eat all the time, I have friends who eat all three meals a day. We just don't need it to survive, and we don't crave it, so I don't really see a point in eating it.”

“Well, you picked a good day to start,” he said with a grin. “Scrambled eggs and bacon happens to be my specialty.”

“Is that so?”

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, nodding his head enthusiastically. “Come on, just try it,” he said, blinking those large, stupid coffee eyes at me. “For me.”

“Fine,” I gave in reluctantly, making sure to send him a sour glare. “But not because you asked. Just because I'm curious about your cooking skills.”

“Whatever you say,” he said with another grin, pausing the inhaling of his food to stare at me unabashedly, waiting for my reaction.

With a cautious sigh I stuck the utensil into the pile on my plate, picking up what seemed like a decent amount and hesitating only a brief second before shoving it passed my lips. I chewed quickly, expecting it to be terrible. I was pleasantly surprised when it wasn't. The texture was kind of gross, sort of slimy and spongey, but the taste was actually rather good. “ _Bellissimo,_ Stiles,” I told him with my kindest smile, enjoying the way his face lit up at the praise.

“You speak...Italian, was it?” he asked after a pause, where only the scraping of our forks against our plates could be heard as we ate our food.

“I'd hope so, considering I lived in Italy for seven years,” I told him gently, my tone lacking its usual bite. Instead it was warm with reminiscence, and Stiles' lips twitched upwards.

“Oh wow,” he said, finishing the last of his eggs and putting down his fork, folding his arms on the counter and merely watched me eat. “Where else have you been?”

“Greece, Australia, Germany. Russia, Egypt, Cambodia. Spent some time in Alaska – I raised huskies. Those were a good few years,” I told him, and I realised as I was speaking that it was the most I'd told anyone about myself in a long, long time. “I was born in England, you know?”

His eyes widened in genuine surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah. I do miss it sometimes but I've come to really love the States _,_ ” I said in my natural English accent. It was like slipping on a hat, it was so easy to go between that and my American one. I'd had to speak in different accents over the years, as a way to survive. This country didn't always look too kindly on immigrants.

He clapped his hands like I was a fucking trained monkey, but I found I didn't really mind, the look of wonder on his face was enough to keep me from getting irritated. “Man, you've gotta show that to Scott.”

I snorted lightly, shovelling the last of my eggs into my mouth. “So what about you?” I asked casually once I'd finished my mouthful, and his face twisted in confusion.

“What about me?”

“You've had me talking about myself all morning,” I said. “It's your turn to spill.”

“Trust me,” he scoffed. “I'm really not that interesting.”

I shrugged, “I beg to differ.”

I stared at him until he got uncomfortable and started rambling. “Well, I mean, I was born here. Uh, my mom died a few years back, Scott's my best friend, my favourite food is curly fries and I watch the Nightmare Before Christmas every Halloween.”

I smiled at the reference to our earlier conversation, but then frowned as I remembered one other piece of information he'd left out. “And you've been in love with Lydia Martin for how long?”

“I—I...” He stuttered, red blotches appearing on his freckled skin. “Uh, how did you––?”

“It's not exactly hard to tell.” He looked down, something about what I'd said apparently making him feel bad. “I should go,” I said regretfully after a long silence. “You need some sleep in a proper bed, and I need to go take care of some things.”

“Wait,” he called as I slid to my feet, and I looked at him in surprise. “Uh, how's your stomach?”

I frowned, having almost forgotten I was injured. I reached down and lifted my shirt up slightly, just enough to expose the bottom of the scratches which were already starting to turn into what would be only temporary scars. “Nothing a little more blood won't fix,” I told him, cringing as I said the words. To my pleasant surprise he didn't grimace in disgust, merely nodding like I was talking about the weather. “Thanks again, Stiles,” I said quietly as I stepped away from the counter. “I'll see you later.”

“Yeah, see you later,” he echoed halfheartedly.

“For the record, Stiles,” I said, turning back around to look him in the eye. “I think you're too good for her anyway.”

With a final smile, I disappeared, out the back door and into the woods before he knew I was gone.


	10. Demons

_So they dug your grave_

_And the masquerade_

_Will come calling out_

_At the mess you made_

_Don't wanna let you down_

_But I am hell bound_

Demons – Imagine Dragons

* * *

I nodded along to the music playing from the turntable in the lounge, humming under my breath as I took my books off the shelves, wiping a cloth along the dusty wood and putting them back on. It was a monotonous task, but it was nice in its simplicity.

A shrill, irritating ringing broke the calm of the atmosphere, and I scowled, pulling the phone from my back pocket and answering the call with only minimal difficulty.

“Hello?” I asked grumpily.

“Juliet!”

I blinked in surprise at the enthusiastic way I was greeted. “Stiles?” I asked, dropping the dirty rag to the floor and leaning against my bookshelves. “What do you want?”

“I'm—I'm trying to convince Scott that life goes on after you break up with your lady friend.”

I couldn't help but snort in blatant amusement, eyes focused on a stain in my carpet. “Did you just say 'lady friend'?” He snorted back through the line and I pulled the phone from my ear, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath before moving it back into place. “Are you drunk?”

“As a skunk!”

I rolled my eyes, torn between annoyance and amusement. “Why did you call me, Stiles?” I asked him in a low, stern sort of a voice.

“We were talking about girls,” he slurred back at me. “And I thought, ' _hey, Juliet's a girl_ '.”

“How very astute of you.”

“Thank you,” he said, overflowing with sincerity.

I rolled my eyes again, running a hand through my loose raven hair, pushing it off my face. “Was there a point to this call, or did you just want to reaffirm my gender?”

“Yes!” he responded, and I could tell he was nodding his head. “Yes, so can you please tell Scott – who's listening in by the way – can you please tell him that there are other girls in the sea.”

“How would I know that?”

“Because you've been around for like a _billion_ years,” he replied. I pursed my lips unhappily, glaring at the far wall even though he couldn't see. “So you have lots of experience,” he slurred.

“Is that so?” I asked, crossing one arm over my chest and tilting my head as I listened to his drunken ramblings.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, sounding distracted and thoughtful before finally he asked, “do you have a boyfriend?”

I looked at the ceiling, praying to every god I'd ever heard of and never believed in to grant me patience. “No, Stiles,” I said slowly, proud that I didn't snap. “I don't have a boyfriend.”

“Oh. A girlfriend?”

I snorted with a surprised amusement. “Nope. No girlfriend either.”

“Good.”

I blinked, fixing my eyes on the light in the centre of the room. “Good?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, sounding much more confident yet also very blasé, “good.” He was quiet for a long moment, nothing but the sound of his breathing echoing across the line. I fell silent, waiting for him to speak. “I don't get why, though,” he began once again. “I mean, I get that you come off as a little rude and intimidating and, honestly, not very likeable at all.”

I clenched my teeth in irritation. “Is there a point to this?”

“But that's just first impressions,” he told me blithely. “I mean, once you get to know you, you're actually pretty cool, and tough, and still quite intimidating and mean – but _very_ beautiful.”

“I'm a vampire, Stiles,” I drawled, sounding just as unimpressed as I felt. “We're all beautiful.”

“And you're confident,” he paused for a moment, and I could hear him thinking through the connection. “So is Lydia,” he said happily. I bit my tongue, forcing back another irritated growl. “And she's _really_ pretty. And she doesn't eat people, which is always a plus.”

“I'm going now,” I said bluntly. The last thing I felt like doing was sitting there and listening to him prattle on about the shallow cow from school.

“No! No, wait––” Stiles tried to stop me.

But I didn't wait to see what he'd say next, ending the call and carelessly throwing my phone onto the couch behind me. My books were more important than that kid anyway.

* * *

The next day the school was open again, and part of me was relieved. I'd been going stir crazy locked away in my house. Allison, for some godforsaken reason, had called me numerous times over the time away from school. Mostly she just wanted to talk about Scott. I don't know why I was her first choice – why not Lydia, or someone else more approachable? – but she kept calling, wanting to chat and get together for coffee, or whatever the hell it was humans did in their spare time.

I knew I'd come here to start some kind of a life, but was Allison really a good friend to be making? She was the daughter of a hunter – hatred and bigotry were practically wired into her DNA. Only it didn't seem it. She spoke to me happily, utterly uncaring of my cold demeanour, chatting away like we were best friends since childhood.

I was hardly surprised, then, when Allison fell into step beside me as I made my way across the school's front lawn.

“What am I going to do when I see Scott?” she asked me anxiously, undeterred by my stormy glare. “How am I supposed to act?”

“You'll figure it out,” I told her tonelessly. Allison faltered for a moment before rolling her eyes like I'd made some sort of stupid joke.

“Come on,” she said, grasping on to the sleeve of my coat and tugging. “This is serious.”

I took a deep breath in, grinding my teeth together with irritation. “Ignore him,” I suggested, my voice stale and distant as I lifted one shoulder and then let it drop.

“And if he talks to me?” she pressed, hanging onto my arm like some kind of barnacle as I instinctively guided her around a small group of giggling freshmen.

“Tell him to leave you alone or Juliet will kick his ass,” I told her simply. We paused outside of the classroom our third period was held in. Her face brightened for a split second, again seeming to assume I'd just made some kind of a joke.

“That's something I'd pay to see,” she said with a small smile, looking me over like she knew there was no chance in hell I could beat the teen wolf in a fight. Instead of annoying me, I felt a flare of amusement, and I smirked back as I unwound our arms, heading for a seat at the back of the room.

I slid into the chair, crossing one leg over the other and staring stonily at the far wall, doing my best to hold my breath.

“ _Psst_ ,” hissed a voice to my right, and I looked over at Stiles, raising a single eyebrow expectantly as I watched the jittery boy tap his pen against the wood of the desk. “Do you think you'll pass?” he whispered curiously, in some kind of attempt at _conversation._

What was it with these humans and their constant need to _talk_ all the time?

“Considering I've got two Bachelors and a Masters degree,” I began with a curled lip, keeping my voice just quiet enough not to be overheard by any prying ears, “I'd say it's pretty damn likely.”

His nose crinkled like I'd said something distasteful, and I grit my teeth at the stupid expression.

“Wanna impart some of your wisdom unto me?” he asked me hopefully, leaning further across the gap between our seats. I didn't dignify that with a response, instead levelling him with a flat, unimpressed stare. His expression fell and he grumbled unintelligently under his breath, moving back to sit properly in his seat, pouting like an immature child.

I caught a whiff of wet dog as Scott stepped into the room, and I glanced at Allison, listening to the sound of her heart when it began to race. “Allison,” the teen wolf said, pausing in front of her desk and staring at her with those heartbroken, puppy-dog eyes.

“Mr McCall,” Harris said loudly, leaning into his view. “Please take a seat.” Scott grit his teeth but complied, silently stepping up to his desk, the one in front of Stiles, and sliding into his seat, gently placing his bag on the floor. “You have forty-five minutes to complete the test,” the teacher said, standing behind his podium and staring at the small sea of students with blank eyes. “Twenty-five percent of your grade can be earned right now simply by writing your name on the cover of the blue book.”

There was a rustle of paper beside me and I glanced across the isle, my lips twitching up into an amused smirk as I watched Stiles eagerly scribble his name in blue biro. I moved to do the same, the smirk sitting comfortably on my lips as I slowly wrote my name in perfect, nineteenth-century calligraphy.

“Begin,” Harris said after a long moment of rambling about disappointment, clicking the start button on his timer.

I opened the booklet, already bored with the whole thing. I sighed, my eyes flickering over the words and circling the correct answers after only a moment. I was on the second page a few moments later when I decided to slow down, the faster I went the sooner I'd be done, but if I was done too quickly I'd be stuck without anything to do.

“Is the answer to question three, 'A'?” Stiles asked, his voice barely carrying on his breath as he not-so-subtly side-eyed me. Clearly it was a question only myself, and maybe Scott, were meant to hear. Not in the mood, my hand shot out and slowly I lifted a single finger in the air for him to see. “I'll take that as a no,” he muttered.

Despite myself I smirked again, though the expression quickly melted when I heard the distinctive sound of a heart to my right begin to pick up speed. It wouldn't have concerned me if I hadn't known there was a young, volatile werewolf in the room with me. I frowned, my pen pausing where it was on the page mid-word.

I slid my gaze to Scott, watching as he glanced around wildly, heart slamming against his sternum. I had a few options here: I could let him work through it, maybe he'd get better and maybe he'd get worse, it was toss-up, really; or I could let him figure out he had to get out of here on his own; or, I could take matters into my own hands.

I knew which option I _had_ to choose. My new-found humanity didn't give me a choice. Either I dealt with it now or people could potentially die. With an irritated sigh I dropped my pen, standing up somewhat violently, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. Every head in the room turned to look at me but I paid them zero mind, focusing on stalking the few steps over to Scott's desk and grasping him roughly by the collar. He barely fought me, allowing me to yank him to his feet and drag him from the room.

“Miss Cooper!” Harris called after me furiously as I yanked Scott through the door without looking back, “Mr McCall!” The was a beat of silence before he shouted, “Mr Stilinski!” I huffed in exasperation as I heard him call the last name, but didn't slow down to let the human catch up.

“Juliet––” Scott tried but I ignored him, dragging him further down the hall, away from any potential casualties. “Locker room,” he growled, and I knew what he meant. He was still in the right frame of mind to be able to tell me where he thought he'd be safest and least likely to hurt anyone. I didn't chance letting him go, however, pulling him by the collar down the hall and directly into the boy's locker room.

What to do from there was surprisingly obvious, and I threw him onto the floor of the showers, slipping closer to him to ensure he wouldn't escape and turning the knobs, cold water spilling out over both of us. I grit my teeth in irritation but didn't say anything, waiting for him to find his feet on his own.

“Scott?” Stiles' voice echoed through the empty halls. “Juliet?! _Scott_?!”

There was a moment of silence and then Scott's phone began to ring from his rapidly soaking pocket. The sound bounced around the ceramic walls, and footsteps slowly began to make their way towards our position. I didn't move, standing over a panting Scott, my hands braced on the wall as I watched him carefully, looking for any small sign he was going to try and escape. He thrashed against the wet tile, all but ripping off his shirt, allowing the cold water to cool his heated skin.

“Stiles,” he gasped as his friend approached. Stiles stepped into the room, his shoes immediately getting soaked through, but he didn't seem to care. “I can't––” Scott struggled for each breath.

“What's wrong? Are you changing?” Stiles asked worriedly as I turned off the shower, the cool water dripping on me twice more before stopping completely.

“No,” Scott said, panting around his attack. “I can't breathe.”

“Here,” Stiles said, lifting up the bag I assumed to be Scott's and digging around in it, holding out an old puffer for the teen wolf to use. “Use this,” at his words the boy stared, perplexed by his suggestion. “Come on,” he prompted impatiently even as the wolf gasped for air. “Use it.”

Scott grabbed for the puffer, wrapping his lips around it and taking a deep breath in. My brow furrowed – werewolves didn't have anything as stupid and human as _asthma._

There was a pregnant pause before the boy perked up, slowly sliding to his feet, his heart finally slowing. I stepped to the side, running a hand through my wet hair to push it out of my eyes. “I was having an asthma attack?” Scott asked in confusion.

“No,” Stiles answered, rocking forwards on his heels. “You were having a panic attack. But thinking you were having an asthma attack actually stopped the panic attack,” he revealed, hands gesturing wildly. “Irony,” he sang, and my scowl deepened.

“How did you know to do that?”

“I used to get them after my mom died,” Stiles said, and something deep within me twinged. I tried keep how it affected me from showing on my face, but I don't think I succeeded, because Stiles' gaze flickered to me before focusing back on his friend. “Not fun, huh?”

“I looked at her and it was like somebody hit me in the ribs with a hammer,” he admitted, breathing heavily and trying to make sense of it all in his head.

“Yeah, it's called heartbreak,” Stiles replied, brows lifting as he spoke. “About two billion songs written about it.”

“I can't stop thinking about her,” Scott said, and I leaned my weight against the wall, rolling my eyes, already wishing I was anywhere else.

“Well you could think about this: her dad's a werewolf hunter, and you're a werewolf, so … bound to become an issue,” he told him with a small laugh. Scott shot him a pained look and the boy grimaced, “that wasn't helpful … God. Dude, I mean yeah, you got dumped but it's supposed to suck.”

“No, that's not it. It was like I could feel everything in the room, I could feel everyone's emotions.”

“That would be the full moon,” I spoke up, reminding them that I was there. Scott looked up at me in vague surprise. “I mean, I may not know much about a werewolf's biochemistry,” I said casually, lifting one shoulder and letting it drop. “But I do know one thing. Full moon equals bad news.”

“So we'll lock you up in your room later just like we planned,” Stiles continued. “That way the alpha, who's your boss, can't get to you either.”

“I think we need to do a lot more than lock me in my room,” Scott responded darkly, frowning at the floor.

“What, you mean because if you get out you'll be caught by hunters?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Because if I get out, I think I might kill someone.”

Stiles didn't say anything for a long moment, considering his friend carefully. “Okay,” he nodded, taking the words in his stride and looking up at me, very obviously working hard to keep his eyes away from my see-through shirt. “Juliet can stay too.”

“I will?” I asked, arching a single eyebrow at him, my expression dangerous, although it did little to deter him.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding along to his own idea. “You can come to Scott's house tonight and guard him while he's under the spell of the moon.”

I snorted, crossing my arms over my chest and staring back at him incredulously. “Under the spell of the––?”

“That way if he escapes or anything, you'll be there to work damage control,” he said brightly, perking up as he divulged his brilliant idea.

“Who says I'll be willing to help?” I asked sourly, but Stiles only chortled like I'd made some kind of a joke. I glared, turning to Scott, who was still leant against the wall, exhausted from his panic attack. “Are you going to be okay?” I asked him as gently as I could, worried he was going to start hyperventilating again or something.

“Yeah,” he nodded, not sounding very confident in his answer.

I awkwardly raised my hand, going to pat him on the shoulder, but ultimately decided against it, letting it drop back to my side. “Call if you need anything,” I reluctantly told them, with an accompanying glare that warned them _not_ to need anything.

I slipped past Stiles, probably looking very much like a drowned cat, my shoes squeaking loudly and embarrassingly as I stormed from the room, my wet footprints the only proof I was ever there.

* * *

I took in a deep drag of my cigarette, holding the smoke in my lungs for a good few seconds before blowing it out of the corner of my mouth.

“Heading to watch practise?” a familiar voice asked, and I looked to my left to see Allison sitting on a bench near the road, her ankles crossed daintily, phone in hand.

“Home actually,” I told her, flicking the ash from the end of my cigarette and shifting the weight of the bag on my shoulder.

“Is Scott okay?”

I peered at her over the top of my sunglasses. She looked sheepish to be asking, but also like she couldn't help herself. Personally I didn't understand the appeal, but perhaps I was prejudice.

“He'll be fine,” I said carefully, taking another deep inhale of the chemicals. She continued to stare up at me, practically emanating concern, a tiny little crease appearing between her carefully plucked brows. “Panic attack,” I elaborated lazily.

She slumped her shoulders, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth and gazing sorrowfully at the cracked concrete by her feet. I felt like I should say something, but I didn't have the slightest clue what. Why didn't they make manuals for vampires going cold turkey from being evil? It would make everything so much easier.

“Er,” I began awkwardly, peeking up at the sky to avoid her eyes, even though she couldn't tell through the tint of my sunglasses. “I would have done the same thing, in your situation,” I told her, not really meaning it, but it seemed like the thing to say.

She was quiet, and I took another drag, the chemicals calming me more than most things ever could.

“Why do I get the feeling you know exactly what really happened the other night?” Allison asked abruptly, and I glanced back at her, taking in her gloomy, sorry expression.

It was a fair enough question, and also completely correct. My lips twitched and I pressed them together to contain my bitter smile.

“Probably because I do know exactly what really happened the other night,” I told her honestly.

“Let me guess,” she began bitterly, a frown marring her pretty face, “you can't tell me.”

A part of me wanted to tell her the truth. She'd nearly died that night, maybe she deserved to know. But if I blabbed supernatural secrets to everyone I felt an inch of pity for, I'd have been dead long before now.

“Not my secret to tell,” I shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. I wondered what her reaction might be; was murderous werewolf even something she'd be able to believe? Or would the truth drive her to insanity, as it had so many others?

I figured I'd best move on before she started asking questions I _really_ couldn't answer.

“I'll see you later, Allison,” I told her with a lazy wave, turning to leave.

“But, Juliet––” she tried to argue, but I was done with the conversation.

I headed down the path heading east, where I could take a shortcut through the woods to my house. I walked at a human pace, not caring enough to run, taking my time climbing over fallen trees and winding through the familiar labyrinth of ferns. I was only a few minutes away from my house when my phone began buzzing from my pocket.

It was an unknown number, but I didn't exactly have a lot of people programmed into the annoying piece of shit, so I answered it anyway. “Hello?” I said into the phone, stepping over a thick log, my boots sinking slightly into the soft, moist earth.

“Well, well,” the familiar voice on the other end of the call said. “I'm surprised to hear your voice, Adams. I didn't think you'd actually answer.”

“I'm a barrel of surprises today,” I dryly told the old friend on the end of the line. “What can I do for you?” I asked, my tone making it clear that I wasn't in the mood to handing out any favours today.

“You could come down to Virginia,” he replied, and I could hear that coy, cocky smirk in his voice. The one that made me want to slap him so hard I turned him back into a human. “I'm at a bar with a mutual old friend of ours, figured you might like to join.”

“Wish I could,” I said with the utmost sarcasm. “But, unfortunately, I'm on the West Coast at the moment, a tiny little town known as Beacon Hills,” I muttered the name with contempt, already resenting it.

“You mean Californian-central for all things supernatural?” he asked dubiously. “What the hell are you doing there?”

“This is a known supernatural hotspot?” I asked, my surprise leaking into my voice. His silence was deafening. “Shut up,” I bit back sharply in response to his silent sass, “I've been all but underground the last few decades. I can't help it if some of the community's gossip happened to escape my notice.”

I stepped from the line of trees that bordered my property, crossing the length of my backyard, the top of the tall grass brushing my thighs. I really needed to do some maintenance on the place. It was beginning to look abandoned, and the last thing I needed was some unlucky squatter trying to move in.

That was too much temptation for me to handle, these days.

“You expect me to believe you pointed to a map and randomly ended up in a hotspot?” he asked dryly.

“Threw a dart, actually,” I bit back, and he laughed. I made my way up the old wooden porch stairs, which creaked under my weight, and then across the porch to the backdoor, which I'd left unlocked. “I needed a change, and I figured it was as good a place as any,” I said simply, shrugging even though he couldn't see.

“Run into anything dangerous?” he asked me in a gossipy tone.

“As a matter of fact, we do have just a little bit of a murderous, psychotic alpha problem over here,” I said, slipping my bag off my shoulder and dropping it onto the dining room table. “Don't reckon you fancy coming over to lend a hand?”

“Sorry,” he responded, clearly not sorry in the slightest. “Got enough problems of our own over here in Mystic Falls.”

My lips twitched up in a ghost of a smirk. “Katherine still giving you trouble?”

“Please,” he scoffed through the line. “That bitch is all but harmless these days. I'm talking serious problems. As in _Original_ problems, if you catch my drift.”

It took me a long moment to process what he meant, and by the time it'd sunk in I was practically glaring at the far wall. If I'd had a living heart, it would have been racing.

Before I could formulate a response, my attention snapped to the sound of the Jeep pulling into my drive. “I have to go,” I said sharply, secretly glad for the out. “But I'll call back later and we'll talk, yeah?”

“You got it, Princess.”

I growled in frustration, pulling the phone from my ear and ending the call before he could say anything else, tossing it onto a bench and stalking to the door. I took a deep breath, calming myself down before turning the handle, revealing a flustered Stiles, fist held up, ready to knock.

He looked surprised to see me there, which was odd, considering it was my house. “Yes?” I asked coolly, arching a single eyebrow in question.

“Uh, I'm here to pick you up?” he said, sounding completely unsure of himself. My jaw clicked in irritation. “You know, for the full moon tonight?” he said slowly.

I watched him closely, taking in his nervous, racing pulse, before glancing up at the sun, determining its position in the sky. “Shouldn't you still be at practise?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning on the doorframe.

“Uh, that's another thing...” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck and shifting his weight from foot to foot.

The last thing I felt like doing in that moment was playing pack with a pair of teenaged idiots, babysitting a wolf that I didn't care about. But I was big enough to admit that I didn't really have anything better to do.

What would Myra do, I wondered?

Knowing the answer, I rolled my eyes, stepping back and gesturing for him to come through. “Come on,” I said, brisk and to the point, “I need to eat before we go anyway, and you might as well tell me while I do.”

He nodded once, a jerky movement, before slipping through the door, his sneakers squeaking against the polished wooden floor. I shut the door behind him, moving through the hall and into the kitchen. Stiles stared at everything in sight, drinking it all in. I pushed him in the direction of the barstools lined by the bench, and he stumbled into one as I wandered over to the fridge, pulling out a blood packet. Behind me, Stiles gagged.

“What?” I asked defensively, moving over to the microwave, putting the bag in the machine and turning it on, the inside lighting up, a soft humming noise filling the room. “I told you I was eating,” I said, suddenly wondering if this had been such a good idea. What if it was too much and he decided he could never look me in the eye again? Then where would I be?

“Yeah, I just thought you meant like, cold pizza or a burrito or something,” he mumbled. I gave an unamused chuckle, leaning back against the bench as I waited for him to speak. He took my cue, resting his forearms on the bench and launching into his story. “Scott completely attacked Danny at practise today.” He paused, apparently waiting for something, but I just stared back stonily. His nose crinkled with something like disapproval, and I got the strangest sense that I'd done something wrong. “He's _fine_ , by the way,” said the human flatly.

Oh, right … _compassion_.

“Where's Scott now?” I asked, not sure what else to say. I didn't feel like faking a conscience now.

“We're meeting him at his house,” he said distractedly, a furious scowl appearing on his lips. “You know what else he did?” he barrelled on. “He kissed Lydia!”

“ _No_!” I gasped melodramatically, as though I were in any way emotionally invested.

“ _Yes_!” he responded loudly, oblivious to my sarcasm. “He told me he was going to find out if she liked me, then he totally made out with her.”

It was all so juvenile, and I looked away, doing my best to hold back a sigh. “What a dog!” I said as the microwave beeped. I pulled open the door and yanked free the warmed blood bag, tearing off the stopper and putting the tube to my lips.

“Yeah, he's totally––” he cut himself off, glaring at me suspiciously, suddenly understanding. “You don't actually care, do you?” he realised with a frown.

“Not in the slightest.”

He sighed, blinking rapidly as he caught sight of the blood travelling up the tube and to my lips, then grimacing in sharp disgust. Something about the expression made my stomach clench unpleasantly, but I ignored it, trying not to think about it and focusing on the feeling of contented bliss the warmed liquid gave me.

I continued to drink, ignoring how uncomfortable he seemed. “Who's that?” he asked after a moment, and I glanced up in surprise. For one horrible moment I thought he was asking the name of the person I was drinking, but then I realised he was staring at something on the far wall.

I followed his line of sight, my eyes finding the single framed picture hanging in the entryway.

“That's Myra,” I said, but then didn't elaborate.

“Who's Myra?” he pressed stubbornly.

My every instinct told me to lie, to change the subject, to keep the painful truth from surfacing. But that was how I'd gotten to this point, wasn't it? I'd been trusting the instincts of the evil inside of me, rather than what tiny shred of humanity remained.

“She's my last living descendant,” I told him quickly, like snapping a neck. When regret didn't immediately follow, I continued on. “Well, _was_ my last living descendant, I suppose,” I added quietly.

He was silent for awhile, but I didn't look at him, keeping my eyes trained on the photograph. Myra was smiling for the camera, skin sagged and leathery, but eyes youthful, full of light and kindness.

“When did she pass?” Stiles eventually asked, his tone soft and quiet.

“Just under a year, now,” I told him, licking away a drop of blood that dripped from my lips. I figured I'd already gone that far. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? “She's the reason I don't kill anyone,” I revealed before I knew what I was doing. Stiles' eyes widened in surprise, but I found it felt good to tell someone, like the burden wasn't just mine to carry alone anymore. “She made me promise to be better. So I left my old life behind, moved here and started to steal from the hospital to get by,” I said with a note of finality.

For now, the subject was no longer up for discussion.

“Are there others?” he asked curiously. “Others like you?”

“Other vampires?” He nodded and I drank the last of my meal before rolling up the empty bag and shoving it in the trash under my sink. “Of course there are. There are hundreds of us all over the world. Thousands, even. We're much more common than werewolves, that's for sure.”

“Why?”

“Because a very long time ago a very old vampire killed them all off, until there were so few left that they became more legend than fact,” I told him succinctly. Memories of hungry, cerulean eyes and an English accent that sounded like pure sex flickered in the back of my mind, but I squashed them down and locked them away before they could do any damage.

Glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner, I noted the time before looking through the window at the sky. “That's enough of a supernatural history lesson for one night,” I told him, zipping up my leather jacket and picking up my things. “We should head to Scott's.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, but clearly his mind was on other things. I led him through the house and out the door, this time locking it behind me before joining him in the Jeep.

“I assume you have chains and handcuffs?” I said, shifting in my seat to face him, watching as he glanced at his blind spot before turning down a side street.

“Of course,” he replied, gesturing with his thumb to the duffel bag sitting on the backseat. I reached back, pulling it open to glance inside. It was some good quality stuff, and I briefly considered asking where he got it, but ultimately decided I probably didn't want to know.

“Impressive,” I said, sitting back properly, facing the front.

“Just call me Mr BDSM.”

I let that comment sit for a long moment, watching from the corner of my eye as he slowly flushed a blotchy, appetising red.

“I don't know why I said that,” he said uncomfortably, shifting in the seat and we turned down another street. “Let's both pretend I didn't.” I chuckled quietly, rolling my eyes at him in a way that was not even slightly _fond_ as he pulled up outside what I was sure was Scott's house. Apparently we didn't live far from one another. “Come on,” he said, the blotchy marks slowly fading from his pale skin.

I slid out of the car, shoving my hands in my pockets and following him up the drive. I heard movement from inside, but didn't question it, trusting the boy knew what he was doing as I watched him pull out a key and slide it into the lock.

“Scott?” a kind voice asked as he stepped inside, while I hung back, realising something Stiles hadn't.

“Stiles,” he chimed awkwardly as an older, pretty woman stepped around the corner.

“Plus one,” I added from over the threshold, waving at the lady politely. I may have been undead, but let it never be said that I didn't have any manners.

“Key,” said the woman after a moment, staring at the key in Stiles' hand.

“Yeah, I had one made...” he replied. I wondered if that was something humans tended to do; make keys for each other's houses. I suppose it was just another human mystery I'd never understand.

“That doesn't surprise me,” said the woman slowly. “Scares me, but doesn't surprise me.”

Stiles smiled good-naturedly, letting the duffel slip from his grip and hit the floor with a _thunk._

“What is that?” she asked, raising her delicate eyebrows.

“Uh, school project.”

“Uh huh,” she said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously before focusing on me standing awkwardly behind him, stuck standing out in the night, unable to enter. “And _who_ is that?” she asked, clearly not recognising me.

Stiles spun around, eyeing me where I stood. He looked quickly between me and the threshold before smacking the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Oh man, I completely forgot!” he said loudly.

“Juliet Cooper, ma'am,” I introduced myself respectfully, ignoring how ridiculous Stiles was being, keeping my hands in my pockets as I knew I wouldn't be able to so much as lean through the barrier. “I'm a friend of Stiles and your son.”

“Please, call me Melissa,” the woman responded with a kind smile before looking between Stiles and I suspiciously.

“Uh, she's helping Scott and I with the project,” he supplied, getting his act together and focusing on the task at hand. He still looked uneasy about the whole barrier thing, but I was determined to carry on without bringing attention to it.

“May I?” I asked Melissa politely, gesturing to the inside of her home.

“Oh, of course,” she said, nodding me through. “Please, come in, don't stand out there in the cold.”

I smiled gratefully as she said those magic little words, glancing at Stiles with a smug smirk before cautiously pushing one leg through the barrier that was now completely gone. I stepped all the way inside, huddling into my jacket as though it were possible for me to get cold.

“Now that I think about it, I remember Scott mentioning a Juliet a few times before. Are you new to town?” asked Melissa curiously.

“Yes, I am,” I replied with a bow of my head. “I was just emancipated from my family a few months ago. I moved here for a fresh start.”

“Oh,” she said, taken aback by my statement. Her smile faltered with sympathy for a long moment before it was back in place. “Well, if you ever need anything...”

“Thank you,” I said, a smile of my own spreading across my lips.

I stepped out of her way, letting her shuffle past me, on her way to work judging by the nursing scrubs she was wearing. “Stiles, he's okay, right?” she asked quietly, pausing at the door while I moved over to the set of frames hung on the far wall, pretending as though I couldn't hear every word.

“Who? Scott?” Stiles asked loudly. “Yeah. Totally.”

“He just doesn't talk to me that much anymore, not like he used to.”

“Well, he's had a bit of a rough week.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Melissa sighed, before perking up. “Okay. You know, be careful tonight. Both of you.”

I wandered back over, the conversation no longer private. “You too,” Stiles said, making reassuring finger pistols at her. I resisted the urge to bash my head against the nearest hard surface at the gesture.

“Full moon,” she added simply.

Both Stiles and I froze, staring back at her in shock. “What?” asked Stiles, lacking his earlier zest.

“There's a full moon tonight,” Melissa said innocently, giving a small, oblivious laugh. “You should see how the ER gets. It brings out all the nut-jobs.”

Stiles very obviously sagged with relief, while I was much more subtle, just my clenched fists relaxing. “Right,” he laughed weakly, playing it off.

“You know, it's actually where they came up with the word 'lunatic'.”

With a final welcoming smile to me and a pat on the back for Stiles she was out the door, pulling it shut behind her. I tilted my head to the side, listening to the sound of a heartbeat pumping steadily from upstairs. I followed the sound, silently padding up the stairs, rolling my eyes at how loud Stiles was in comparison. I slipped into the room, my eyes adjusting to the darkness easily as I watched Scott sit in a chair in the corner, staring steadily back.

“Hey, how'd you know which––?” a loud scream abruptly stopped his words as he flicked the light on and spotted Scott sitting in the corner. “Oh my _God!_ ” he huffed, and even though his reaction was hilarious, something about the look in Scott's eyes made it impossible for me to force a smile onto my lips. “Dude, you scared the hell out of me,” Stiles complained. He turned to me, nudging me in the shoulder with a scowl of annoyance. “A little warning would have been nice,” he looked back at the wolf, “we thought you weren't home yet?”

“I came in through the window.”

I may not have known Scott for long, or even very well at all, but even I could tell he wasn't acting like himself.

“Okay,” said Stiles in response to his friend's deadpan. “Well, let's get this stuff set up. Wait until you see what I've bought.”

“I'm fine,” said Scott, feeling absent from his voice. “I'm just going to lock the door and go to bed early tonight.”

“You sure about that?” Stiles asked, looking up from where he was crouched by the bag of chains. “Because you've got this kinda 'serial killer' look going on in your eyes, and I'm hoping it's the full moon taking effect because it's _really_ starting to freak me out,” he admitted readily.

I leaned against the wall, trying not to blink so I didn't for a second take my eyes off of the dangerous teen wolf. There was nothing more unpredictable than a new wolf on the night of a full moon. I shouldn't have been there – it was risky, even for me.

“I'm fine,” Scott said darkly, a hollow glean to his usually-warm eyes. “You should both go now.”

Stiles looked over his shoulder at me, but I didn't look back, merely shaking my head in the negative. Stiles' heart began to race, his human instincts telling him to run far, far away, before the beast in front of him lost all semblance of control.

“Alright, I'll leave,” said Stiles, looking back at his friend evenly. “Look, would you at least look in the bag and see what I've bought?”

Scott slowly pushed himself from the armchair, moving over and kneeling by the duffel. “You think I'm going to let you put these on? Chain me up like a dog?” I bit back a smart remark about how he _was_ a dog, figuring that would only inflame the situation further. The last thing I needed was a hungry wolf with a vendetta against me. I had enough of those already.

“Actually, no.”

Even I was surprised when the human boy leapt forwards, tugging the handcuffs free and quick as lightening cuffing Scott to the radiator beside him. I blinked, lips curling up in an impressed sort of grin.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Scott snarled at him furiously.

“Protecting you from yourself,” Stiles retorted, stepping out of the wolf's reach. “And giving you some payback for making out with Lydia.”

I rolled my eyes at the boy, cursing the fact that I'd gotten so involved with such juvenile theatrics. I was better than this.

“Stiles, let me out _now_ ,” growled Scott, pulling at the thin metal of the cuffs. They rattled but didn't give. “Come on, you know I'm not a danger to anyone. I don't deserve this,” he pleaded.

Stiles scoffed, turning on his heel and storming from the room. I stayed where I was, unwilling to look away from Scott for even a second. He was too dangerous to be left unattended. I know I said I didn't want to babysit him, but, look, someone had to. Right?

“Come on, Juliet,” Scott said, turning his attention desperately onto me. I kept my arms crossed tightly, glaring at him stonily, unwavering in my caution. “Please,” he said again, yanking at the cuffs, the jingling sound of metal on metal begin to grate at me. “You know this isn't right. You can let me out, can't you?”

I didn't answer, didn't even so much as twitch. I just stared back at him, cold and uncompromising. When I didn't move, the teen wolf's voice darkened along with his eyes.

“Of course not,” he muttered bitterly. “You're just a selfish _vampire._ Nature's mistake, incapable of compassion,” he sneered.

Something in my chest squeezed painfully when his words hit home, but my expression gave nothing away.

“No one here is ever going to accept you, Juliet,” he said cruelly, eyes a glowing a warning amber. “Not me, not Allison, and _certainly_ not Stiles.”

My jaw clenched as I fought back the urge to let my fangs show, every instinct in me screaming to attack. But I was too wise for that, I'd been around too long to let him get the better of me with petty words spoken out of desperation. It took more than that to break me.

Stiles reappeared, water bottle and dog bowl in hand. “I brought you some water,” he said, holding up the bowl with the werewolf's name written on the side and pouring the water in with a cocky smirk, completely oblivious to what had just happened while he was gone. I thought it might have been a little bit overkill, but I let him have his theatrical fun.

“ _I'm gonna kill you_!” Scott snarled the second the human's back was turned, the bowl flying through the air on a collision course with his head. I stretched out a hand, plucking it from the air with ease, letting it drop harmlessly to my feet.

Stiles whirled back around on Scott, eyes practically red with his anger.

“You kissed her, Scott! Okay? You kissed _Lydia_!” he shouted, betrayed.

I rolled my eyes at where the conversation was going but otherwise didn't comment. I listened to them argue, listened to Stiles tell Scott what a shit friend he was, then as Scott goaded him, teasing him with a smirk.

Eventually the human boy had had enough, unable to take it any more he slipped from the room, his heart pounding violently against his chest. I looked between Scott and the doorway, ultimately deciding that it made more sense to check if Stiles was okay. I didn't want him to have a panic attack or something, and Scott wasn't going anywhere. With a sigh and a warning glare at Scott I rounded the corner, stopping dead as I saw Stiles curled up in a ball on the floor just outside the room.

I stared at him for a long moment, watching the way his arms curled tightly around his knees, taking deep, calming breaths. Hesitantly, I pressed myself to the wall and slowly slid down until I sat beside the boy. I let my legs spread out, leaning so close to him that I could feel his body warmth heating up my own stone cold flesh.

I stared at the far wall, counting the cracks in the paint as I listened to Stiles' heart slowly calm itself. I was glad that he hadn't had a panic attack – there were only so many of those I could handle in a day.

“Are you okay?” I asked him after at least a good ten minutes. He sighed, pressing his forehead to his knees before sitting up properly. I felt rather than saw his head turn towards me, feeling his eyes on the side of my face. I kept my stare on the wall, half my attention on the wet thumping of his heart. I was suddenly aware of exactly how hungry I was. Starving, actually, despite my meal earlier that evening.

It didn't matter. I was damned with ravenous hunger. As was the curse of a vampire.

Stiles watched me for a long time, and it wasn't until the hungry beast in my belly was back under control that he finally spoke. “I will be,” the human sighed, resting his chin on his arm and keeping his eyes on me. “Once this damn night is over, at least,” he muttered quietly.

“Yeah,” I agreed, huffing out a breath, the force blowing a piece of hair from my face, only for it to float back into place a moment later.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked me softly. I looked at him in surprise. He ducked his head, suddenly sheepish. “I heard him yelling at you,” he explained. If it were possible, my face might have paled. “I couldn't make out what he was saying through the floorboards, I could just hear him yelling. I'm sure whatever he was saying weren't compliments on your hair.”

I didn't say anything. I didn't even know if I was okay. I was still new to this whole 'emotions' deal. Was what I was feeling, hurt? I didn't realise words could be so painful.

“I'm sure whatever it was, was a lie,” said Stiles surely from beside me.

“You didn't hear him,” I replied, surprising even myself. I certainly sounded sad to my own ears, but was that enough of a measure? “I don't think I've never heard anything so true,” I admitted weakly.

He shifted, his arm moving like he was going to put it around me, but he changed his mind at the last moment. I wasn't upset, I wouldn't want to put my arm around a dead girl either. I opened my mouth to say something else (though I wasn't sure what) when a scent caught my attention. A very strong, very irresistible scent. A gasp escaped my mouth, and every one of my muscles tensed.

“Juliet?” Stiles asked worriedly, noticing that I'd stopped breathing. He peered around the corner at Scott, eyes widening as he spotted the bloody wound that had appeared on his wrist from tugging at the cuffs. He snapped back into place, heart picking up once more, stressed.

I don't know what I was expecting him to do, but sliding his hand into mine certainly wasn't it. I tensed even more, but he didn't let go. While I would usually only feel hungrier when faced with the feeling of warm blood pumping under the skin, something about this offered me only comfort.

“You fed only an hour ago,” he reminded me, winding his fingers through mine and squeezing. It was a strange gesture. How many decades had it been since someone had held my hand? Just held it, with no ulterior motives? “Besides, it's werewolf blood, and last I heard, that was the most disgusting kinda blood there is.”

Despite myself, a spluttered laugh managed to escape. “It tastes bad, but smells good, if that makes sense,” I told him quietly.

“I'm no expert, but maybe take a few deep breaths? Like any scent, maybe you just have to get used to it?” he suggested, and I found it entirely sweet how he was trying so hard to help. Though I was sure it was a bad idea, I did as asked and slowly took a deep breath in. Considering I was so full of blood that my stomach felt sloshy, it was relatively easy to stop myself from giving over to the bloodlust. “You alright?” he asked softly after a long couple of minutes, squeezing my hand again.

“Yeah,” I nodded, taking another experimental breath in, letting the scent of the blood sit on my tongue for a moment before letting it out. I looked up at him, reluctant to say anything but feeling like I should. He looked back down at me, a soft, undeserved worry on his face. “Thank you.”

“All in a day's work,” he responded cheekily, and for a split second we forgot that there was a potentially homicidal werewolf cuffed to the radiator only a room over.

“Stiles, please let me out.”

All at once, any pleasant emotions drained from us, dread once again filling our expressions. I pasted an indifferent mask over my face, turning back to face the opposite wall, however my hand didn't for a moment slip from Stiles'.

“It's the full moon, I swear,” Scott panted from the other room. “You know I wouldn't do any of this on purpose. Please Stiles, let me out, it's starting to hurt. It's not like the first time. It's the full moon. It's Allison breaking up with me,” he continued. I rolled my eyes, tipping my head back until it thumped against the wall. “I know that it's not just 'taking a break'. She broke up with me, and it's killing me. I feel completely hopeless. Just please, let me out.”

Stiles' heartbeat picked up again, and he squeezed my hand so hard that if I were human something may have snapped. He glanced at me, and I could see the turmoil in his head. He pleaded with his eyes, begging me to help him. I squeezed his hand back, meeting his gaze and shaking my head softly.

“I can't,” he finally said, defeat in his gaze as he dropped his forehead to rest on my shoulder. I stared down at the boy with wide, shocked eyes. What did someone do in this sort of situation? Should I push him off? Awkwardly slide out from under him? Yell at him? After a long minute I decided that if this was somehow comforting to the boy, then there was no harm in letting him do it. He gave off so much heat, it was like someone was pressing an iron to my shoulder, I could feel the warmth even through my leather jacket.

In his bedroom, Scott began to scream. I felt Stiles wince as he clutched my hand tighter, I had no idea how he could stand the temperature of my dead flesh, but he didn't seem to mind, curling further in on himself, and therefore, me. If I had a heartbeat, it would have gone off the charts.

Scott continued to scream, and Stiles continued to freak out, and I continued to feel awkward but not entirely uncomfortable. Then I heard the faint sound of metal breaking apart, and footsteps on the ground outside. I shot up, shoving Stiles off of me as I disappeared, reappearing in Scott's bedroom, staring in horror at the snapped cuffs and the pool of cooling blood beneath them.

“Scott?” Stiles called worriedly, rushing into the room behind me. “Oh my God,” he muttered, staring out the window, dread on his features.

“I'll follow him, keep him out of trouble,” I said, stepping over the blood and slipping one leg out the window.

“What if he bites you?” he asked, a severe frown on his lips. I shrugged; I didn't have a good answer. “Just...” he began, clenching his hands into fists like he didn't know what else to do with them. “Be careful.”

I took the time to look back, throwing the boy my brightest and hopefully most reassuring smile before I launched myself from the windowsill. I landed on my feet and took off running, following the scent of wet dog leading down the street. He'd taken off into the forest, but it was easier to track him there with his scent rubbed off on the logs and trees.

I still wasn't an expert on the town, so I had no idea where he was heading. I followed at a safe distance, I figured trying to keep him held down would only equal permanent death for me, so I stayed back, running behind him, making sure he didn't come across any campers or anyone else he could potentially harm.

He seemed like he was running with a purpose, so I wasn't too surprised when he darted from the forest and into a parking lot, leaping onto the top of a beat up old car and peering through the darkness at something. I could clearly see and hear Allison and Jackson in a car at the other end of the lot.

I sighed, mentally rolling up my sleeves and preparing to take a run at him. Out of nowhere, a figure leapt from the shadows, crashing into Scott and sending them both flying off the edge of the hill at the end of the lot. My eyes widened and darted after them, reappearing behind a tree only a few feet from where the two fought. Judging by the smell, it was Derek Hale, and my eyebrows raised as I watched the two wolves fight it out.

“A little help?” Derek growled at me as he took a swipe at the teen wolf. I stepped out into the open, fangs slipping from my gums, blood draining to my eyes. I met them in the middle, grabbing Scott by the scruff and holding him up for Derek to get a good punch in. I let him go as his fist connected with his face, allowing the force to throw him to the forest floor.

Derek immediately crouched down, snarling in Scott's face. Scott scrambled backwards, trying to put as much distance between he and the older wolf as he could. Derek stepped closer, his features melting away until he was left looking human once again.

“What's happening to me?” Scott asked, breathing heavily. I relaxed my hands. There was a slight sting as my fangs disappeared back up into my gums, and the blood left my eyes, the veins around them disappearing into nothing.

“Exactly what he wants to happen,” Derek said stonily, peering down at the boy through the darkness. Scott sagged, holding his head in his hands.

I shifted my weight, looking over at Derek with a smirk. “Congratulations on not being dead,” I told him cheekily.

“I'd say the same to you, but last time I checked...” he trailed off, I might have even called it playful if not for the severe look in his eyes.

I crinkled my nose at him but didn't take the bait, instead rolling my eyes and taking a step closer to a shaking Scott. I crouched down to his level, waiting impatiently for him to look up at me. He finally did, eyes round and innocent and so scared that I felt a rumble of pity in my gut. “Are you going to be okay with Derek?” I asked him softly, trying to be as gentle with the kid as I could. It wasn't his fault he was like this. “I should go find Stiles, I bet he's freaking out right about now,” I said, but Scott couldn't muster a smile. “Besides, I think this is wolf business,” I added in a whisper.

“Yeah,” he said, sounding choked, like there was a lump in his throat. “I'll be fine,” he assured me weakly.

I awkwardly reached out, patting him lightly on the shoulder. “Everything will work out, Scott,” I told him, a lot more conviction in my voice than I felt. “You'll see.”

“Because you're the eternal optimist,” he responded with sarcasm, taking a page from Stiles' book.

My lips twitched upwards in amusement. “At least something good came out of tonight,” I said playfully. “You gained a sense of humour.”

He looked like he was trying to grin back, but it came across as more of a grimace. I patted him on the shoulder one last time before sliding to my feet, shooting Derek a no-nonsense kind of look. “Take him straight home,” I ordered him sternly.

The beta wolf looked like he wanted to snap back, but after taking a look at the boy changed his mind, simply nodding at me before bending down to help Scott to his feet. I watched them for one more moment before turning around and melting back into the night. I had a human to check on.


	11. Ragged Company

_I'm cursing like a sailor and lying like a thief_

_It's hard to heed the calling from the better side of me_

_When I'm blaming everybody else and no one's coming clean_

Ragged Company – Grace Potter

* * *

“When you asked me to help you tonight, this wasn't what I had in mind,” I yelled over the sound of sirens, leaping over a fallen support beam with ease, grabbing ahold of Derek's jacket and yanking him faster across the uneven ground, his feet slipping and sliding on the loose gravel. “I was thinking help moving. Maybe putting together some IKEA furniture.”

“Shut up and run,” he snapped back as I took a sharp left turn, one hand going up to my hood to make sure the black material hadn't fallen down. The hunters knew who I was, but if the cops found out, it would make things even more difficult for me. It was hard enough to stay under the radar as it was, I didn't need a BOLO attached to my falsified records.

“Where are they?” I asked as we turned down another street, dodging the hood of a police car as it pulled out in front of us.

“I can hear them, they're only a block over,” he panted. I clenched my jaw and pushed myself harder, while making sure I didn't go so fast that I lost Derek. I'd never hear the end of that one.

He darted into an abandoned industrial building, and I followed, sticking close to his side. Loud barking met my ears, the police dogs on our tail. I huffed, leaping up onto a crate and watching as Derek spun around, eyes glowing a brilliant blue and fangs exposed, snarling at them wildly. They scampered back to where they'd come from, whimpering with their tails between their legs.

“Cute trick,” I said dryly, stepping off the crate, dropping to the ground. “Come on,” I urged, motioning for him to follow me around the corner of a large machine. I froze halfway, Derek bumping into my back. “Someone's watching us,” I hissed, eyes scanning the shadows.

There was a flash of migraine-inducing light in front of us, and we both recoiled. My vision adjusted quickly, but Derek continued to stumble. I turned the full power of my glower to the source of the weapon, glaring at Argent from under the cover of my hood.

He broke eye contact, hurrying to reload his crossbow. I didn't stick around to see what he'd pull out next, I just shoved Derek back behind the machine, diving down beside him, my back pressed up against his side as I waited, ignoring the way he flinched away from the contact.

We didn't end up having to come up with another brilliant plan. Derek's car, driven by the other two members of our little ragtag rebellion gang, came sliding into the room, coming to a stop mere feet away from us.

“Get in!” Stiles yelled, cracking open the door before leaping over the backseat to give us room.

I didn't waste time. Knowing Derek could look after himself I darted to the car just as Argent pulled out a gun, beginning to fire at us. I felt a thump and an irritation in my bicep as I dove over the seat, slipping in beside Stiles just before Derek jumped into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind him.

“What part of laying low don't you understand?!” Scott asked furiously from the driver's seat, driving out of the warehouse and onto a badly lit backroad, the tyres screeching at the high speeds.

“Dammit, I had him!” Derek responded, utterly ignoring the teen wolf.

“Who, the alpha?” Stiles asked, leaning over the seat, unintentionally forcing me to lean back to avoid being pressed against him. After the chase we just had, I could do with a nice warm glass of blood, and I didn't need Stiles' tempting throat anywhere near my aching fangs.

“Yes!” shouted Derek crossly. “He was right in front of us and the fucking _police_ show up!” he spat.

“Hey, they're just doing their jobs,” argued Stiles defensively.

Derek's head snapped around, a furious glare forming on his features, making the younger boy's heart stutter with fear. I rolled my eyes, reaching forwards and pressing a hand to Stiles' chest, shoving him back properly in the seat.

“Yeah, thanks to someone who decided to make me the most wanted fugitive in the _entire state_ ,” Derek continued grouchily, glowering at Scott who was torn between looking sheepishly at him and focusing on the road ahead.

“Can we seriously get past that?” Scott asked desperately, easing his foot off the gas as we sped around a corner. “I made a dumb-ass mistake, I get it.”

Derek opened his mouth to snap back, but I leaned forwards, putting an end to the squabble. “Okay, can we all just agree that everyone here's to blame except me?” I chirped, aiming for playful but not quite hitting the mark.

Stiles was the only one who seemed to see it for what it was: a distraction. He huffed a tired sort of laugh from beside me while Scott and Derek rolled their eyes in annoyance.

“How did you guys find him?” Stiles spoke up, leaning over the seat again, forcing us closer together. When Derek didn't respond I opened my mouth to tell them, but Derek cut me off with a sharp look. It was my turn to roll my eyes, deciding keeping the peace was worth keeping my mouth shut for the time being.

“Can you just try to trust us for at least half a second?” Scott demanded, torn between exasperated and angry.

“Yeah, _both_ of us,” said Stiles eagerly. Derek turned around, the full force of his glare focused on the uncomfortable human. “Or just him,” he corrected, heart once again jumping in fear, “I'll be back here.”

I pursed my lips at the beta, reaching up to lightly pat Stiles on the back, an action that made his heart stutter again. I immediately lifted my hand, frowning.

“Look, the last time I talked to my sister, she was close to figuring something out,” Derek began slowly, and I listened carefully. He hadn't gone through this information with me, and I was annoyed I hadn't been told immediately. All he'd said was that he had a lead on where the alpha might be, and I'd been stupid enough not to ask questions. I wouldn't be making that mistake again. “She found two things. The first was a guy named Harris.”

Stiles all but leapt into the gap between their heads again, staring at Derek. “Our chemistry teacher?” he asked incredulously, though I couldn't see the expression on his face from the way he was angled.

My lip curled at the mention of the horrid man I was forced to interact with on a daily basis, but I saved my scathing comments for a time when he would actually be around to hear them.

“Why him?” Scott asked from the driver's seat.

“I don't know yet,” Derek responded evenly.

“What's the second?”

He dug in his pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper with something drawn on it in pencil. “Some kind of symbol,” he told him, and by extension, us. Scott glanced away from the road to get a look at the picture, and he jerked back in surprise once he saw it, taking the car with him a few inches to the left.

Stiles' hand shot out and grasped my upper leg through the leather of my pants, and I looked from it to his face, which was slowly becoming a deep crimson. He awkwardly peeled his hand from the position, clearing his throat and making a show of putting his attention back on the conversation at hand.

“What?” Derek was asking Scott sharply. “Do you know what this is?”

“I've seen it on a necklace,” he admitted reluctantly as I leaned forwards, ignoring the way I could still feel the heat of Stiles' hand, and got a look at the picture. I'd seen it before too, and it wasn't too surprising where. Of course the Argents had something to do with this whole mess. What didn't they have their hand in? “Allison's necklace,” Scott confessed weakly.

There was a few beats of silence as Derek processed this information.

“You have to get it from her,” he finally replied, folding the paper halfheartedly before shoving it haphazardly into his back pocket.

Scott stared at Derek like he thought he might have been kidding. Derek stared back unwaveringly, and it was clear he wasn't. “Easier said than done,” Scott mumbled.

“Pull over,” Derek abruptly demanded.

“What?” Scott asked in surprise, blinking across the console at the man.

“Pull over,” he repeated. Scott did as asked, pulling off to the side of the road just on the edge of suburbia, I could see the lights from the first houses just beyond the trees. Derek shoved open the door and climbed out, stalking around to the drivers side where Scott sat, dumbfounded. “Out,” he said, ripping open the door and gesturing for the boy to get out of the car.

“How are we supposed to get home?” Scott asked, bewildered.

“Not my problem,” Derek said heartlessly, and with a sigh Scott climbed from the car. I followed, then Stiles after me. “I'll call you when I know the next step,” Derek said to me, making no move to keep the words hidden from the others. I gave a lazy salute in reply, watching as he slid behind the wheel of his car. With an unnecessary rev of the engine, he disappeared in a cloud of dust from the road.

“Prick,” I muttered, kicking a pebble on the ground, watching uninterestedly as it flew across the road, crashing into the tree with a loud crack that made Stiles flinch. I spun around, shoving my hands into the pockets of the hoodie I was wearing and stepping into the shadows.

“Where're you going?” Stiles asked loudly, and I paused before I hit the tree line.

“Home,” I said slowly, like he was an idiot.

“You—you're just going to leave us out here?” he asked, gesturing to the empty road and looming canopy, rays of moonlight just barely shining through, illuminating our faces. “You're going alone?”

I pursed my lips, my brow furrowing. “I figured you were big boys,” I told him, allowing my lips to quirk up in a small smirk. “Besides, Scott can watch your back.”

“I'm more worried about _your_ back,” he admitted, and my hand drifted to my back pocket. I tugged a loose cigarette free, slipping it between my lips and bringing my lighter up to light it. I took a drag, listening to the steady pump of his heart.

“Would it make you feel better if I walked with you?” I asked meaning to sound condescending, but I didn't pull it off, judging by the sincere look on the human's face.

“It would actually,” he told me, calling my bluff.

I rolled my eyes, flicking the ash of the end of my stick and walking back towards them. I passed them and made it several paces down the road before I stopped and looked back, observing he and Scott, who had remained oddly silent thus far. “Well?” I asked impatiently.

They looked at each other, having one of their silent communications before they both turned and walked towards me. I didn't wait to them to catch up, turning back around and heading down the road. A moment later we were in suburbia, under the harsh fluorescents of the street lights. I didn't like them, they made me look even paler than I already was, but I put up with it for the boys.

“So, I was wondering something,” Stiles began suddenly. “Are there any other vampires in Beacon Hills?” he asked conversationally, speaking so loudly that a man walking his dog on the opposite side of the road turned to look at us through narrowed eyes.

I let my eyes slip closed for a moment, praying for patience from Zeus or Ra or whoever the fuck was listening, before I opened them again, taking in another lungful of chemicals. “No,” I answered, glancing up at the heavens, only just able to make out the Little Dipper with the lights from the area. “At least, not that I know of,” I blew out the smoke in a perfect ring, ducking under it and continuing forwards. “It's just me.”

It had sounded more sad than I'd meant to, but I didn't add anything further. “You must miss your own kind, huh?” Scott spoke up for the first time from where he walked closest to the road.

I decided there wasn't any harm in replying honestly, so I nodded. “Yeah, sometimes.”

“So, how do you become a vampire?” he asked, and it occurred to me that I hadn't really told either he or Stiles much about the process. The other boy listened on, appearing outwardly nonchalant, but I could tell how eager he was for answers.

“You don't want to know,” I said simply, grimacing at the thought.

“We really do,” Stiles replied, jumping forwards a few steps so we were walking beside each other. “So come on, what is it? How does it happen? A bite, like werewolves?”

I snorted, rolling my eyes again. “Nothing so tacky.”

I wasn't sure what Scott's response to that would be, but he still surprised me when he chuckled lightly. I decided it wouldn't hurt to tell them the truth. It wasn't like either of them were secretly wishing to be vampires, or like they could use the information against me in any way.

“You have to drink a vampire's blood, then die with it in your system. Once you wake up, you need to feed on human blood to complete the transformation,” I told them gravely. “It's a painful, complicated process.”

They were both quiet, taking in what I'd said with varying levels of grim disgust.

“This is my stop,” Scott spoke up, pausing in front of a familiar two storey house. “I guess I'll see you guys at school tomorrow,” he said, smiling slightly, thoughts clearly elsewhere. Before he could walk up his drive, he turned towards me, expression serious. “If anything happens before you guys are home … if the alpha...” he trailed off, glancing at his best friend with worry.

“Yeah,” I nodded, not in the mood to hear him plead. I got the idea. If it came down to it, I would protect the human boy. That was who I was now, someone who preserved life, instead of taking it. “You got it,” I said shortly.

Scott smiled again, reaching out to pat me one the shoulder amiably. I kept myself from flinching away, pushing my lips up into a small, perfunctory smile. He turned to Stiles, did some weird handshake thing that I didn't understand before clapping him on the shoulder too and wandering up to his front door. I waited until he was inside before turning and continuing down the road in the direction of Stiles' house. It meant I was walking in the opposite direction to my house, but Stiles didn't mention it, and I was happy to keep silent.

“Have you ever done it?” Stiles asked softly after a lengthy pause, glancing over at me, probably only just able to make me out as we moved out of the glow of the streetlights. “Turned someone, I mean?”

I didn't meet his gaze, staring forwards as I took a drag from my cigarette to put off answering for as long as I could. “Yes,” I finally said, expression stony and cold.

“Why?” he asked, the question probing but somehow also innocent.

It was an harmless enough question, but it didn't have such a simple answer. He wasn't scared of me yet, but there were things I could tell him now, things that could make his skin crawl, make him look at me with fear and loathing and disgust.

“Hey.”

I realised he'd stopped walking and turned around to face him, watching as he swatted away the bugs flying in circles around his head.

“Nothing you tell me is going to send me running,” he said seriously as I finished off my cigarette, dropping it to the ground and crushing it under the low heel of my boot. I avoided his eyes, my gaze going to my lapis lazuli daylight ring, fiddling with it idly. “Jules...”

I looked up, taken by surprise at the nickname.

He smiled, but it was careful, controlled in a way I didn't know he was capable of. “You did some fucked up things in your past, I get it,” he said understandingly, and I was momentarily taken aback by his colourful language, but it quickly gave way to an amused smirk. “I'm not going to judge you for it.”

I licked my lips, taking my time. “Some decades were more boring than others,” I said quietly, turning around and beginning to walk down the street, his footsteps hurriedly picked up behind me as he worked to keep pace. “Sometimes I was lonely and so I did what most vampires do when they get lonely and I … _made_ myself some friends,” I told him, my hands twisting in front of me. “Literally.”

He was quiet again, processing what I'd said. In a way it was amusing; it took a lot to leave Stiles Stilinski without words. “Where are they now?” he asked after a while, handing finding their way into his pockets.

“Some met people they liked more than me,” I shrugged as though it didn't still hurt. “Some went off alone, preferring to live as nomads.” I paused, swallowing thickly, “Most are dead.” I stared into the distance, trying to force myself not to remember Hilary with her flaming red hair, or Bess with the bluest eyes to ever blue, Slater with the thirst for knowledge, or Nathan and Lynda who were the cutest couple I knew, or Marty and Peter, may they rest in peace. “I'm still in contact with a few of them,” I said offhandedly. “If you ever wanna see a vampire party in action I have this great friend over in Virginia who I think you'd like. I didn't turn him, I just met he and his brother a while back. You're both as sarcastic as each other,” I paused to smirk at him.

“Juliet Cooper: vampire pimp,” he joked, framing his hands across the sky like it was written on a billboard. I forced myself not to wince at the fake name, keeping the smirk pasted across my red lips.

“That's me,” I said with a light laugh, nudging him softly with my elbow. He chuckled, shaking his head and smiling at the ground. “Sleep well, Stiles,” I said, coming to a stop outside his house.

“What?” he asked in confusion, spinning around and catching sight of his home, shoulders slumping. “Oh.” I turned around, heading back the way we'd come. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked loudly, and I paused under the light of a street lamp, glancing back at him over the shoulder.

“Of course,” I told him, unsure whether or not it was a lie.

A wicked smirk crossed his face as he crossed his arms. “You're not afraid of the big bad wolf?” he asked, and I was thrown back to several weeks ago, when I'd first met he and Scott in the woods, and I'd said nearly the exact same thing to them.

Clearly he remembered it just as well as I did, and I couldn't help the grin that spread across my lips. “Never,” I replied, winking teasingly before spinning back around, wandering off into the night, trying not to think about how I could feel his eyes on me until I turned the corner.

* * *

“We have a problem,” Scott said the next day, grabbing my arm and tugging me from my locker, barely giving me time to hit it shut before we were halfway down the hall, Stiles in tow.

“Okay?” I said in confusion, ripping my arm from his grasp, readjusting the old army jacket I'd picked up when I was actually _in_ the army, pushing the sleeves back up past my elbows. I held my books to my chest and nodded for him to lead the way.

“Jackson knows,” he said gravely, glancing at every corner like the guy would be standing there watching him.

“Knows what?” I asked with a frown, glancing back at Stiles. He looked just as stressed as his werewolf best friend, so I assumed this was as serious as they were saying it was.

“That I'm a … _you know what_?”

I shot him a deadpan expression, unamused by his words. “It's not a dirty word Scott,” I grumbled with an eye roll. “This is who you are now, might as well come to terms with the word _werewolf._ ”

Stiles nodded enthusiastically, wholeheartedly agreeing with my point.

“Aren't you the least bit concerned?” Scott asked, brow furrowing.

“No,” I said with a shrug.

They looked at each other for a moment before looking back at me. “Why not?” Stiles asked carefully.

“Hello?” I said sarcastically, pointing to myself. “Vampire?” That didn't seem to clear things up for them. “I happen to possess the gift of compulsion.”

“You can make him forget he knows anything?” Scott asked hopefully, stepping closer so we wouldn't be overheard.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “And implant false memories, or make him to leave town, or even make him kill himself, if I so desire.”

Scott looked disturbed by what I said, but Stiles seemed to take it in his stride. “We'll keep that last one as plan C,” he said, lips twitching. “For now if you could just make him forget, that'd be great.”

He shot me a double thumbs-up which I hurried to copy with enthusiasm, a sarcastic grin on my lips. He scrunched his nose at me unhappily, but I paid him no mind. “All right,” I said. “I'll come find you when it's done.”

I didn't wait for a reply, merely blending into the crowd, on a hunt for Jackson. I only had to ask two people if they'd seen him before I found him entering the boy's toilet on the second floor. I tilted my head as I paused outside, carefully listening for anyone else in there with him. Once I'd determined that he was alone, I shoved my way into the room, locking the door behind me.

Jackson glanced up in surprise at the foreboding sound.

I set my books down on the counter, walking calmly towards him. A cocky smirk appeared on his lips as he held up his hands. “Listen, Juliet right?” He didn't wait for a reply. “Look, I'm flattered, really, I am, but the men's room? That's so freshman. Why don't we––?”

“Shut up,” I snapped as I approached him, slamming my forearm against his chest, forcing him into the wall beside the sink. His eyes widened in alarm and he struggled to push back, sucking in a sharp breath as he realised I was a lot stronger than he was. “You're going to forget everything––”

“What are you talking about?!” he exclaimed, trying to slip out from my hold.

I frowned when it didn't immediately work, grabbing his chin with my free hand and forcing him to look deep into my eyes as my pupils dilated over and over again, struggling to draw him under my control. “You're going to forget everything you know about Scott McCall––”

“Get off of me!” he yelled, and I impatiently clamped a hand over his mouth. It wasn't working. Why wasn't it working?

I shoved him back again, one hand over his mouth, the other running down his arms and chest, looking for something, but hoping I was wrong. I hissed in pain when my hand met a small disk of metal, the coating on it acid to my skin. “Where did you get this broach?” I asked roughly, letting go of my hold on his mouth to grasp both sides of his collar, pulling him forwards and slamming him back into the wall. It cracked just slightly under the assault, and Jackson winced in pain.

“I don't know––” he tried to say, but I wasn't interested in his vague answers.

“Where did you get it?” I repeated in a growl, glaring at him, trying not to breathe through my nose so I couldn't smell the blood pumping so very fast through his veins, just beneath the skin. It would be so easy to bite him now, just a taste.

But then he spoke, his voice pulling me from my stupor. “Allison gave it to me,” he told me angrily, still struggling against my hold. I gripped him tighter, material of his jacket tearing a little in my grip.

“Why?” I demanded.

“What do you mean, why?” he asked in confusion.

“I _mean_ why would she give it to you?”

“She said her aunt gave them to her to give to her friends, something about being a symbol of protection. I _don't_ _know_!” he insisted, wincing when my grip tightened again.

I glowered at him for a long moment, weighing my options before letting him go. He panted against the bathroom wall, pressing a hand to his chest where I'd held him. A bruise would probably form in the next day or so, but that was the least of my concerns.

“Tell anyone about this and I'll cut off your dick and lodge it in your oesophagus,” I warned him. He didn't reply, staring back at me with wide, shocked eyes. With a final glare I picked up my books, nonchalantly fixed my hair in the mirror then unlocked the door, sauntering out like I hadn't just threatened the arrogant boy's life.

* * *

It took until lunch to meet up with the boys again, I found them at their usual table, whispering over their food.

“Did you find anything else out?” Stiles was asking as I approached.

“Just that I know nothing about girls, _and_ that they're totally psychotic,” Scott replied, staring at his food. I silently slipped into the chair opposite them both.

“Ouch,” I said loudly, making them both jump in their seats, heads snapping around to stare at me. “I resent that,” I added playfully.

“I—I didn't mean _you_ ,” Scott stumbled over his words, trying to dig himself out of the hole he was in. I raised a single eyebrow, and he looked away awkwardly.

“Look, I came up with a plan B just incase anything like this happened,” Stiles said, turning back to Scott and effectively breaking the tension I'd created.

“What's plan B?” Scott asked, glad for the change of topic.

“Just steal the stupid thing.”

“Can't we try at least getting to Harris?”

“My dad put him on a twenty-four hour protective detail. The necklace is all we've got,” Stiles sighed, dropping a chip back onto his plate in defeat.

“While we're sharing news,” I said, reaching over to pick up one of his discarded chips, frowning at it before deciding it wouldn't kill me and popping it into my mouth. It was salty and not altogether unpleasant. “Jackson can't be compelled.”

There was a beat of silence before Stiles snapped back into action. “He _what_?” he asked furiously, sitting up straighter to peer at the boy at the other end of the room. “Why the hell not?”

“ _Your_ little girlfriend gave him vervain,” I muttered with a nod at Scott, lip curling in anger as I absentmindedly picked up another chip, just for something to do.

“What's vervain?” asked Stiles quickly.

“Wolfsbane for vampires,” I told him shortly.

“How is that possible?” Scott hissed, looking around the cafeteria in alarm. “She doesn't know anything. Does she?”

“I don't think so,” I shrugged, crossing one leg over the other and picking up Stiles' drink, unscrewing the lid and taking a sip before I'd even realised I'd moved. I frowned down at the bottle before capping it and sliding it back over to the boy, who just took it with a nod. “I managed to get Jackson to tell me that it was her aunt's idea, something about being a symbol of protection and handing them out to her friends.” I huffed, a strand of hair flying away from my face before floating back down to rest on my cheek. “Whatever, either way I can't touch it to get it off, it burns me every time I try, so one of you will somehow have to rip it off his shirt for me. It's a little broach in the shape of a tree––”

“Guys, he's watching us.”

I frowned at the uncharacteristically rude interruption, but when I followed his line of sight over my shoulder, I saw that he was indeed right. The little dick-potato was watching us with a creepy, intense look on his face, jaw clenched tight, clicking every few moments.

“Act normal,” Scott muttered, ducking his head, shoulders stiffening as he struggled to look anywhere but at the other boy. I rolled my eyes, leaning back in my chair, throwing one arm over the back and kicking my feet up on the empty chair beside me. I wore nonchalance like an armour.

“Scott.”

Scott tensed up as Jackson muttered his name. I shot him a warning glare, silently urging him to stay cool. “Don't react,” I whispered to him warningly, staring at a spot on the ceiling like it was the most fascinating thing in the room.

“Can you hear me?” whispered Jackson from the other end of the room. “You can, can't you? You and your little friend.”

Stiles frowned in confusion at the stonily looks on our faces. “What's wrong?” he asked quietly, taking care to keep his eyes on his friend.

“Jackson's talking to us, he knows we can hear him,” Scott told him under his breath. “Look at me,” he instructed when the boy looked away. “Just talk to me; act normal.”

“Are you trying to pretend not to hear me?” muttered Jackson, slimy amusement in his voice.

“Say something,” Scott hissed again when Stiles remained silent.

Stiles gestured wildly, at a loss, “I can't think of anything, my mind is completely blank.”

“ _Your_ mind's blank? You can't think of something to say?”

“Not under this kind of pressure.” He huffed, taking a chance and glancing where the boy was sitting. “FYI he's not even sitting with them anymore.” I looked up, brow furrowing as I took in the empty chair.

“Where the fuck...?” I trailed off, eyes narrowing as I searched the room.

“Looking for me? I'm right here.” I rolled my eyes, returning my gaze to the ceiling and tapping out a beat on the table with my nails. What a twat. “So what else can you two do? Can you see better? Are you stronger? More powerful? Now, I knew there was no way McCall suddenly got that good at lacrosse. Which means you're actually a cheater. Aren't you? Can you even play lacrosse?”

“Yes,” Scott muttered angrily.

“Don't rise to the bait, Scott,” I said softly, my fingers never pausing their tapping.

“I bet my new co-captain is gonna score a bunch of shots tonight, aren't you? And while you're pretending you're not a lying cheat, I'm going to ruin your life if you don't give me what I want. And you know what I'm going to start with? Her. I'm going to destroy any chance you have left with her. And when I'm done with that I'm gonna get her all alone then I'm gonna get my hands all over that tight little body.”

“Scott, come on, you can't let him do this, you can't let him have this kind of power over you,” Stiles said, there for his friend even though he wasn't sure what the bastard was saying. Scott's hand clenched around the water bottle he was holding. The plastic creaked under his grip.

“I'm gonna do everything you never got the chance to do. Scott, she's going to beg for more. I'll bet she likes to get loud. Maybe she's even a screamer. How're you gonna feel Scott, when she's screaming my name?”

I didn't appreciate his blatant disrespect for Allison, who was such a sweet and kind soul. I reached forwards and picked up Stiles' apple, spinning around and launching it at Jackson's head. He grunted as it collided with his skull at the same time as Scott snapped his tray in half, making every head in the cafeteria turn to stare. I met their gazes with a cool stare of my own, and slowly they all turned away, made uncomfortable by the coldness in my eyes.

“Did you just throw my apple at Jackson's head?” Stiles asked after a moment, looking from the empty spot where his apple had been to where Jackson stood in the corner, glaring darkly, a red mark forming above his eyebrow.

I watched him as his jaw clicked a final time and he turned around, stalking from the room. The corner of my lips curved up into a light smirk. “Yes,” I responded cooly, my fingers resuming their dance on the table.

“Cool.”

I glanced at him, taking in his impressed smile and forcing down the warm glow it gave me in my gut.

“Listen,” he continued after a moment. “I have an idea about what we need to do next, to find the alpha.”

“And?” I prompted impatiently.

He opened his mouth to reply, but the bell rang from overhead, echoing throughout the room, bouncing off the shiny linoleum floor. “Meet me at my Jeep after school, you can come to mine and help. I'll explain on the way.”

I figured arguing would get me nowhere, so I shrugged. I was learning that when Stiles wanted something, it wasn't often he didn't get it. Besides, it wasn't like I had anything better to do with my time.

That afternoon, he waited until we were halfway to his house, windows rolled down and some tacky pop song playing from the radio, to explain his plan to me.

“So, basically, we're somehow tracing who the original sender of the text to Allison's phone was?” I asked, my brain having some difficultly wrapping around the complicated techno-babble.

“Yeah,” he nodded, taking a left down a side street.

It was silent for a while, both of us enjoying the fresh air and quiet rumble of the engine before I decided to speak up. “Are you excited for the game tonight?” I asked him curiously, finding that I wasn't just going through the motions; I was actually interested in the answer to my question. I'd found that happening a lot over the recent weeks, wanting to know more about Stiles than I'd ever really wanted to know about anyone. I told myself it was because there was something different about him, something special.

Maybe it was just because he wanted to be my friend, even despite knowing what I truly was. There was something genuinely warming about it. Something that made me annoyingly fond of him for it.

“Yeah,” the human nodded, a smile spread across his lips.

“First line,” I said needlessly, watching from the corner of my eye as his grin brightened.

“Yeah,” he repeated giddily. “I still can't believe it.”

“You're going to be great,” I said somewhat stiltedly, hoping I came across as encouraging or supportive instead of just awkward. I didn't know how to make kindness seem natural; because, for me, it wasn't.

He glanced over at me, a tiny grin on his face. “You think?”

“I know,” I replied confidently as we pulled into his driveway. I cracked open my door, dropping to the ground and letting it swing shut behind me. I noticed his dad's cruiser parked to the right, meaning the man was home. Stiles led the way up the drive, stepping through the door and gesturing for me to follow. We didn't immediately run into his dad, but I could hear the man's heartbeat in the lounge. Stiles just moved up the stairs to his room, trusting me to follow him.

Before I stepped through the door I caught a whiff of a familiar scent, and as I entered the room I turned to look at Derek with a raised eyebrow. Stiles slid through the doorway obliviously, not sparing either of us a glance and moving straight to his desk chair to boot up his computer. I stepped back until the back of my knees touched the bed and sat down on it, keeping my eyes on the beta werewolf in front of me.

“Hey Stiles!” the Sheriff yelled to his son from the top of the stairs.

“Yo D— _Derek_?!” he spun around, gaping at the raven haired wolf standing in his bedroom. His eyes snapped to mine, looking for answers. I shrugged and with a wince he leapt from the chair, moving to the doorway and poking his head through so that his dad wouldn't get a look at Derek.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I hissed under my breath, so quietly only Derek's enhanced hearing could pick it up.

“None of your business,” he whispered back.

I rolled my eyes. “Mature,” I grumbled, half listening to the conversation on the other side of the door.

“Did I hear someone else come in with you?” John asked suspiciously, and I slid to my feet, flashing my teeth at Derek before pasting a small smile on my face and appearing in the gap in the doorway.

“Afternoon, Sheriff,” I greeted him politely, leaning against the wood.

“Juliet,” he replied kindly. “What're you doing here?”

“History project,” Stiles interjected, apparently worrying I wouldn't be able to lie. “She's my partner. Not—not my _partner._ I mean my partner in history. The class. At school.”

His dad shot him a bemused sort of look, not quite sure what he was on about. I just barely kept from rolling my eyes.

“She's a huge history buff, so she's helping me study,” he continued awkwardly. I nodded along fervently, as though it were all fact.

“Okay, well, I was just telling Stiles that I have to head out,” the Sheriff began, looking between us with cautious eyes. “Can I trust you two home alone?” he added carefully.

“Of course, sir,” I said, pasting on my most charming smile. He watched us for several more long seconds before nodding and turning around, shooting his one one final weird look over his shoulder at his son before he made his way down the stairs. I slipped back into the room, crossing my arms and waiting for Stiles to follow.

The moment he was inside Derek grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and slammed him none-too-gently up against the back of his closed door. The human jumped, glancing over at me with wide eyes, heart pounding in his chest. I didn't actually think Derek would harm Stiles, so I remained where I was, watching distantly. “If you say one word...” Derek began to threaten him.

“Like what? _Hey dad, Derek Hale's in my room, bring your gun_?” Stiles replied sarcastically, making Derek scowl. “Yeah, that's right. If I'm harbouring your fugitive ass, it's my house; my rules, buddy.”

I refused to be impressed by the guts he displayed, but couldn't help the amused smirk that found its way onto my face. Derek was silent for a beat before nodding reluctantly. He let go of the boy, stepping back and straightening his askew clothes. Stiles huffed a laugh, copying the action.

He moved to step around him, and Derek flinched forwards, making Stiles gasp and stumble back. “Oh my _God_ ,” the human grunted, hand held to his racing heart. I chuckled, moving back and standing beside the bed, considering for a moment before shrugging and letting myself fall back down onto the covers. I noticed for the first time how comfortable Stiles' bed was, way better than my old thing.

“Scott didn't get the necklace?” Derek asked, arms crossed, staring stonily at Stiles.

“No, he's still working on it. But there's something else we can try. The night we were trapped at the school, Scott sent a text to Allison asking her to meet him there.”

“So?”

“So, it wasn't Scott.”

“Well, can you find out who sent it?”

“No, not me, but I think I know somebody who can,” Stiles said, and Derek turned around to look at me expectantly. Stiles followed his gaze before letting out a dry laugh. “Her? _Please_ ,” he chuckled, shaking his head, ignoring my frown. “She can barely turn a phone on, let alone trace a text. Seriously, for someone so old you'd think she'd be better with technology.”

“Technology has only been around for a fraction of the time I've existed,” I defended myself pettily. “I've spent more years writing letters than the entire time the phone has been around.”

Stiles threw a smirk at me over his shoulder, unfazed by my irritated and somewhat defensive tone.

* * *

Danny was understandably confused. “You want me to do _what_?”

“Trace a text.”

“I came here to do lab work. That's what lab partners do.”

“And we will, once you trace the text.”

“And what makes you think I know how?”

“I looked up your arrest report,” Stiles admitted with minimal shame and my lips twitched from where I reclined on his bed, idly flipping through some old music magazine. I didn't know who _Three Days Grace_ was, but Stiles had the page with an interview of them dogeared.

“I was thirteen,” Danny defended himself, as if any of us cared. “They dropped the charges. No, we're doing lab work,” he said, trying his hardest to sound decisive and stern.

“Oh my––” Stiles cussed under his breath, spinning around in his chair to stare at me expectantly. “Jules, would you please just … _you know_?” he whined.

I glanced up from the glossy pages of the magazine, fixing my cool stare on Danny. He met my eyes and I flattened my gaze in a way that should have immediately drawn him in. But he merely frowned in confusion and my eyes darted down to the familiar little broach pinned onto his jacket. “Cool broach, Danny,” I said obviously, and Stiles groaned in defeat, realising what I was pointing out. “Allison give it to you?”

He looked down at the offending accessory. “Uh, yeah?”

“Cool,” I said with a fake smile, immediately dropping it when I turned back to the magazine.

Danny looked completely confused as he sat down in the chair beside Stiles. “What's she doing here, exactly?” he whispered as though I wouldn't hear.

“Tutoring me in history,” Stiles lied.

“Right,” said Danny awkwardly, shooting me a skeptical look from the corner of his eye. “And, er, who is he, again?” he asked, looking back at Derek, who sat silently in the corner.

Stiles paused. “My cousin, Miguel.”

“My boyfriend, Tanner.”

There was an awkward silence after both Stiles and I had spoken at the exact same time. Danny's eyes narrowed suspiciously, flickering between us skeptically. Derek glanced up in annoyance. “Which one is it?” Danny asked, his strong brow furrowed.

“He—he's my cousin _and_ Juliet's boyfriend,” Stiles said, a hint of desperation and something like disgust in his tone.

“But is his name Miguel or Tanner?” Danny asked, still unsure what to make of the whole thing.

“Miguel Tanner,” I supplied with an easy smile, turning to look at Derek with a smirk. “Isn't that right, baby?” I asked in a lovey, condescending tone. His glare intensified, and I got the feeling that he was trying to set me on fire with his mind.

“...Is that blood on his shirt?” Danny asked warily.

“Yeah, well he gets these horrible nose bleeds,” Stiles said, and I had to admit – it wasn't the worst excuse I'd ever heard. “Hey Miguel, I thought I told you you could borrow one of my shirts,” he added meaningfully.

Derek passive-aggressively slammed the encyclopaedia he was pretending to read shut, sliding to his feet. I watched, only half interested as the wolf slid his bloodstained shirt off. I couldn't help but watch the way the muscles in his back rippled under his skin as he searched for another shirt. He may have been a werewolf, and I may have been a vampire, but I was still a woman and he was still a man, and fuck if I wasn't going to look.

“I mean, so, anyway, we both know you have the skills to trace that text so…”

“Stiles,” Derek spoke up.

The human huffed, turning to look at him in annoyance. “Yes?”

“This no _fit.”_

“Then try something else on.”

He turned back to the chest of drawers, and I couldn't help myself as I rolled over onto my stomach, getting closer to the shirtless wolf and his fine abs. I smirked, playfully kicking my feet into the air as I watched him root around in the drawers for another shirt.

“He isn't a piece of meat, you know,” Stiles snapped after a long moment, face twisted in disgust as he looked between the two of us. I didn't dignify that with a response, instead continuing to watch Derek, utterly shameless. “Hey, that one looks pretty good, huh?” he suddenly said enthusiastically, and I raised an eyebrow at his words, eyeing the hideous piece of fabric stretched over the wolf's muscles. “What do you think Danny?”

“Huh?”

“The shirt.”

“It's not really his colour,” Danny said awkwardly, and I instantly picked up on what Stiles was doing. Derek scowled but stripped off the ugly shirt anyway, sorting through the contents of the drawer for a more suitable one.

“You swing for a different team but you still play ball, don't you Danny-boy?”

“You're a horrible person.”

“I know it keeps me awake at night,” he muttered uncaringly, watching Danny with intense eyes. “Anyway, about that text...”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek snapped angrily from his place in the corner. “None of these _fit_.”

We all looked at him, and a predatory smirk spread across my lips. “Might just be better for you to go without,” I said with a deep sigh, biting my lip at him teasingly. He shot me a disgusted look, muttering something about me being a 'walking corpse' under his breath. I didn't take offence, my pointed teeth showing in a hungry, wicked grin.

“I'll need the ISP, the phone number and the exact time of the text,” Danny spoke up, and Stiles pumped his fist in the air in celebration.

“Thank you man, seriously,” he said with a shit-eating grin as he handed over the necessary information.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled back, reluctantly focused on the task we'd given him. “Are any of you going to tell me exactly why I'm doing this?”

There was a heavy silence as we all considered his question. How much was this kid allowed to know? If it were solely up to me, he'd probably already be dead. “I think it's in your best interests if you just don't ask any questions,” I spoke up, the queen of avoiding uncomfortable questions. Plus, I knew how much Stiles despised secrets. I didn't wanna have to make it harder on the kid – any more than it already was.

Danny let out a small, frustrated sigh but seemed to get the message that we weren't going to be telling him shit. “There, the text was sent from a computer,” he finally told us after a long few minutes of tense, stony silence. “This one,” he confirmed, pointing at the screen.

“Registered to that account name?” Derek asked incredulously, and I frowned, leaning around him to get a peek at the words displayed.

“No, no, no, no,” Stiles muttered anxiously. “That can't be right.”

There, in clear, red writing was one name. One none of us could have possibly predicted in a million years.

_Melissa McCall._

* * *

So, once we hurriedly ushered the cute latino boy from Stiles' house, it was silently and unanimously decided that we would all go to the hospital to check it out. If Scott's mom really was the culprit – well, I guess that was just a bridge we'd have to cross when the time came.

“Look, if you see my dad, can you tell him I'll be there, I'll just be a little bit late, okay?” Stiles was saying to Scott over the phone, heart thundering in his chest.

He was meant to be playing lacrosse tonight – his first night on first line. I knew it was a big deal for him to give that up, but I felt a strange sort of pride at the fact he was mature enough to see the point of the greater good.

On the other end of the line, Scott agreed and Stiles hung up, sighing heavily as he pocketed his phone, dropping his chin to his chest for just a few moments. “You're not gonna make it,” Derek deadpanned unhelpfully.

“I know,” the human groaned, rubbing his palms into his eyes.

“You didn't tell him about his mom, either.”

“Not until we find out the truth.”

It was a kind thing to do, so much so that it felt nearly alien to me. Personally, I wouldn't have thought twice about telling the boy what we'd found. But Stiles was always thinking about other people, having their best interests at heart – it was just who he was at a fundamental level.

“By the way, one more thing.” said Derek suddenly.

Stiles reluctantly looked up at the werewolf, brow furrowed. “Yeah?”

Derek abruptly grabbed the back of Stiles' head and slammed it into the steering wheel, making the boy yelp in shock and pain, grabbing at his aching head. I was surprised when I didn't find his pain immediately hilarious, instead an irritation churning in my gut at the werewolf, who wore a rather self-satisfied look on his stupid, wolfish face.

“What the hell was that?!” Stiles shouted, wincing as he pressed a hand against his skull, as though afraid the impact might cause his brain to fall out.

“You _know_ what that was for,” Derek snapped.

Rolling my eyes at the stink of testosterone, I slid from the backseat only to reappear at Stiles' door. I cracked it open, reaching in to grab the boy's arm, pulling him from the jeep.

“Don't screw up,” Derek grunted, and I flipped him off as I let the door slam shut. I let go of Stiles' arm, the hot press of his skin against mine too much for me to handle, the pump of his pulse too tempting. Instead I shoved my hands into the pockets of my trench coat, leading the way into the hospital.

The automatic doors slid open as I approached, and I waited just inside for Stiles to catch up. He was still rubbing his sore head, an agitated frown on his face. I turned around as he stepped over the threshold, pausing when I didn't see the room awash with nurses and patients. It was empty and silent, too still for everything to be fine.

“Something's wrong,” I said quietly, not wanting to break the eerie silence that covered the ward like a blanket. I stepped closer to Stiles, just a subtle shift of my posture that he didn't seem to notice, nodding for the human to follow me. “Stay close to me. Don't wander off.”

“You got it,” he replied just as softly, frowning at the empty front desk in concern.

We did a loop of the floor, but there wasn't a single person in sight. It might as well have been a ghost town. “Call Derek,” I ordered Stiles as we made out way back through the long-term care unit. He didn't question me, fishing out his phone and dialling the wolf waiting out in the Jeep.

“We can't find her,” he said the moment Derek answered.

“ _What?_ ”

“I said we can't find her.”

“ _Look, ask for Jennifer. She's been looking after my uncle.”_

“Yeah, well he's not here either,” Stiles said, stepping half into the room, cautiously checking it out. I kept my stare on the empty all, my skin prickling warningly as I expended my senses, trying to figure out what was wrong.

“ _What?”_

“He's not here, he's gone.”

“ _Get out of there_ right now,” Derek shouted at us over the line. “ _It's him, he's the alpha. Get out_!”

I felt eyes on the back of my head and whipped around so fast it would have given a human whiplash. A man was standing at the corner, an ugly smirk twisted across his scarred, burned face. I snapped a hand out like it were an instinct, grabbing ahold of Stiles' arm and yanking him from the room, forcing him behind me, angling my body so that if the alpha attacked, I'd be the first one he reached.

I didn't want Stiles' death on my conscience. There was already enough red in my ledger, I didn't need any more.

“You must be Stiles,” the stranger said quietly, his beady, intelligent eyes focused on what he could see of the boy positioned behind me. His eyes flickered across to me, a hint of playful hunger in them that made everything in me want to run. “Which would make you Juliet, correct?” he asked, voice like honey.

“Stiles,” I said carefully, not taking my eyes off the alpha for a second as I reached back, pushing my hand against the kid's chest. “ _Run,_ ” I ordered him shortly.

Stiles hesitated a moment, freezing in place. I could practically hear his mind whirring from behind me, desperately trying to figure out what the right thing to do was. I prayed to whatever kind of fucked up god who would listen that he wasn't going to try and do something stupidly heroic.

But in the end his sense of self-preservation won out, and Stiles had barely turned around before another voice spoke up, accompanied by a wet, thudding pulse. “What are you doing here?” the newcomer – a woman – asked in a creepy, even tone. “Visiting hours are over.”

The alpha toed forwards, a predatory smirk on his unattractive face. “You–? And him–?” Stiles stuttered, heart racing in his chest, suddenly smelling strongly of fear. “You're the one who—and he's the...oh my God, I'm gonna die...” he whispered.

“Stiles, it's going to be okay,” I said steadily, more of an afterthought than anything. That's what people in charge did, wasn't it? Lied to the others to keep them calm?

I refused to let surprise flash on my face when I felt his fingers touch mine. I didn't move an inch, my eyes on the alpha but my attention on the human as Stiles' hand found mine. It wasn't long before he was clutching onto it like a lifeline.

I heard footsteps running towards us from a hall over and knew instinctively that it was Derek. A beta and a vampire against an alpha. We would have the advantage of numbers, but would it be enough?

My priority, though, was to get Stiles to safety. None of this mattered if the human died. Against my better judgement, he'd become something of a … _friend._

Derek finally burst into the room, ramming his elbow into the nurse's face, sending her crashing to the floor. I grit my teeth against the enticing scent of blood as it poured from her nose in a steady stream. I stopped breathing all together, and now it was me clutching Stiles like he was all that stood between me and sweet, sweet murder.

“That's not nice,” the alpha crooned. “She's my nurse.”

“She's the psychotic bitch helping you kill people,” Derek snarled. He glared even more intently at his relative, barely looking away to say to Stiles, “get out of the way.”

“Oh man,” he moaned in despair, dropping to the floor and sliding out of the way. It wasn't until he got too far that I realised he'd yet to let go of my hand. He tugged me after him desperately, as though concerned for my safety, but instead I wrenched my hand from his grip, stepping once again so I was in front of him, a vampire shield.

“You think I killed Laura on purpose?” the alpha began, striding forwards, stepping around me like I wasn't even there – like I were _nothing_ – focused solely on his nephew. “My own family?”

Derek's eyes glowed a brilliant blue, snarling back at him, leaping forward to attack. “Stiles, desk, now,” I hissed, reaching down to grab his arms, staring at him straight on, conveying how deadly serious I was.

“Not without you,” he said with wide eyes, and I didn't have it in me to find it sweet. Instead I growled and shoved him towards the safety of the desks, watching him slide across the floor. He was too far away to stop me as I moved forwards, landing a punch to the alpha's gut. He grunted softly but otherwise didn't react. I'd forgotten how tough it was fighting an alpha – they had so much strength on me.

The alpha turned around, snapping out his wrist and slapping me clear across the face. The blow split my lip and I felt blood trickle down my chin as I slumped against the wall. I growled, wishing I'd fed recently. I was nowhere near at my strongest.

“My mind,” the alpha began again, grabbing Derek by the throat and dragging him down the hall as I recovered from the hit, my head still spinning, “my personality, were literally burned out of me. I was being driven by pure instinct.”

“You want forgiveness?” Derek asked once he'd let him go, leaping to his feet and slamming his fist into his uncle's cheek. I stood up straight, flitting to their side and making a fist, slamming it into his spine. It cracked under my assault, but this alpha had _series_ power. He flinched, then turned around to look at me, eyes burning a furious red.

I barely got time to muttered a curse before he was landing another blow to my jaw. I took it like a champ, hissing as I recovered, kicking out my leg to land a kick to his side, but he grabbed my knee, using my own momentum to slam me into the hard floor. I heard something in my leg snap, then a sharp cracking noise as my skull hit the linoleum below.

My vision blurred and it suddenly sounded like I was hearing everything from under water. It continued for a moment, and I realised something must have happened to my spine, because I couldn't feel anything below my chest. Funnily enough, my last thought before blacking out wasn't that I hoped the alpha wouldn't finish me off while I was unconscious, but that more than anything I hoped Stiles would be okay; that he would survive this. Because if anybody deserved to, it was him.

When I came to the first thing I felt was someone squeezing my hand. It took quite a bit of effort, but eventually I got my eyelids to cooperate, blinking them open, staring at the harsh fluorescent light directly above me. It made my head ache.

“Juliet?” Stiles' familiar voice asked in my ear, and I looked to the side to see him kneeling over my head, worry and fear splashed across his face. “Juliet!”

“Stiles?” I croaked, wincing as I tried to sit up. He helped me up immediately, slipping an arm around my shoulders, taking most of my weight for me.

“Holy crap, Jules!” he gasped, squeezing me tightly, heart thumping wildly against his chest. “I thought you were dead.” I refrained from commenting that technically I _was_ dead, and instead slid awkwardly to my feet. “You didn't have a heartbeat and you weren't breathing and I thought...”

I raised a hand to my aching neck, rolling it and frowning as I felt the last of the healing process work its magic. “Feed,” I grunted, grimacing as I realised I sounded like a fucking caveman. “I need to feed.”

“Yeah,” he said, not seeming fazed in the slightest by my words. “Where do they keep the A Positive around here?” he tried to joke. It fell flat, his heart still racing wildly, making him short of breath.

“I smell some,” I said quietly, turning around and walking down the hall. “This way.”

He followed me, hovering close to my back like he was sure I was going to collapse or something. I shoved open the doors to a treatment room, spotting a bag of blood hanging from the drip pole. I stumbled forwards, all but tearing it from the metal stand. I bit into it, spitting the mouthful of plastic to the ground. “Jules,” Stiles muttered from a few feet away. “Your eyes.”

I realised my composure had begun to slip, human facade giving way to my true form. Veins travelled up the length of my cheeks, eyes dark and flooded with crimson blood.

Self-conscious, I spun so my back was facing him, hiding my face as I eagerly emptied the contents of the bag into my mouth. I let out a small, blissful moan at the taste, sucking until every last drop was gone. Once I was content, I dropped the bag to the floor, running a hand over my lips to collect any spilt drops and waiting for my fangs to retreat before finally turning back around to look at Stiles meekly.

I felt ashamed in a way, that he'd seen me like that. It was borderline embarrassing. I brushed my hair back from my face, eyes on a scuff mark on the floor, unable to meet his gaze. “Derek left with Peter,” he said after a long moment of tense silence, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Immediately I got over whatever the fuck was wrong with me, gaze snapping up to meet his. “He _what_?” I demanded shrilly.

If there was one thing this hellhole of a town was teaching me, it was to _never_ trust a werewolf.


	12. Hate To See Your Heart Break

_For all the air that's in your lungs_

_For all the joy that is to come_

_For all the things that you're alive to feel_

_Just let the pain remind you hearts can heal_

Hate To See Your Heart Break – Paramore

* * *

When Stiles rang to tell me we had to protect Jackson – of all people – I was understandably skeptical.

“Why can't we just let them kill him again?” I asked for the tenth time from my perch on the backseat, feet kicked up beside me as I watched the old buildings from the industrial district fly passed. Stiles was pushing the speed limit in his haste to get to Jackson, something I struggled to understand.

“Because we're the _good guys_ ,” Stiles said slowly like he was speaking to a child. I bit back a remark about how I was over ten times his age, something about the sudden realisation not sitting well in my gut.

“Jackson needs to be taken care of and the Argents need to believe they caught the other beta,” I reminded them cheerily. “Two birds, one stone,” I grinned wickedly at Stiles in the rearview mirror. “It's win-win.”

Stiles looked like he was seriously considering it for a moment, a small smirk on his face, and a pleasure filled me as for a brief moment, I pictured him as an immortal.

I could see it so clearly in my mind's eye. He was easy-going, fun-loving and he had a brilliantly sour attitude towards life, the kind a vampire needed to get through the world on top. The awesome thrill the image gave me faded when I realised he'd lose all the things I liked best about him; his clumsiness, his humanity, his _heartbeat._

“Show time,” the boy occupying my thoughts chimed, turning up the music playing from the Jeep and hitting the gas before coming to an abrupt, jerky stop beside Jackson and Argent. “Yo!” he greeted the boy like they were old friends. I wanted no part in it all, sulking in the backseat, silently glowering out the window, upset that murder wasn't still on the table.

Yeah, I was trying to be better, but old habits die hard, right?

“Everything okay?” Scott asked Jackson brightly.

“Hey Scott,” Argent greeted him with a wide, too-perfect smile. “Your friend here was having car trouble. We're just taking a look,” he said, like he wasn't planning Jackson's death down to the brand of saw they'd use to cut him in half.

“There's a shop right down the street, I'm sure they have a tow truck,” said Scott cheerfully.

“Yeah, you want a ride?” Stiles asked with a smile that I could tell was forced. “Hey, come on Jackson,” he continued when the boy hesitated. “You're way too pretty to be out here all by yourself.”

Jackson nodded reluctantly, heading towards the Jeep. “Hey boys!” Argent called, and I rolled my eyes at his blatant show of ignoring me. He leaned down and turned the ignition, the car letting out a healthy rumble as it started without a problem. “I told you I knew a few things about cars,” he said with a sly smirk.

He swaggered back to his vehicle, sliding into the driver's seat and pulling away without a backwards glance.

“What, are you following _me_ now?” Jackson hissed the second he was gone, glaring at Scott with as much fury as he could, which I honestly didn't find very intimidating.

“Yes, you stupid, _freaking_ idiot. You almost gave away everything right there!”

It was interesting to see Scott blow up, he was usually so introverted. I unrolled the window face them, curling my legs under me on the seat of the Jeep and resting my arms on the windowsill, watching as Stiles joined the group, just as angry and irritated as his best friend.

“What are you talking about?” asked Jackson suspiciously.

“He thinks _you're_ the second beta!”

There was a pause. “What?”

“He thinks you're _me_!” Scott lashed out, slamming his hand against the door of the Jeep.

I sniggered at the blatant display of rage, and Stiles shot me a none-too-happy expression. “Dude, my Jeep,” he whined, wincing at the minimal damage.

“I can hear your heart beating from a mile away, literally,” Scott growled, and I rolled my eyes at the dramatics. “Now he thinks that there's something wrong and now I have to keep an eye on you so he doesn't _kill you too_!”

He roared loudly, swinging around to land another hit on the Jeep. “Okay, okay, how about we just step away from Stiles' Jeep,” the kid muttered, grabbing his friend's arms and pulling him away from his beloved car.

“This is _your_ problem, not mine,” Jackson retorted furiously. “Okay, I didn't say anything which means _you're_ the one that's going to get _me_ killed. This is _your_ fault.” He took a step forwards, shoving Scott into the Jeep. I dodged back as he slammed into the window I was leaning out of, making sure he didn't break a finger or something.

“Stop hitting my Jeep!” Stiles exclaimed exasperatedly, throwing his arms in the arm. I suppressed another snigger, schooling my features when he glanced my way. Jackson and Scott dove at each other. “Jules!” Stiles yelped, jumping back to avoid being in the middle of their squabble.

I was out of the car before he could blink, standing between the two boys, a hand on each chest, forcing them apart. “Settle down, boys,” I scolded them lightly, shoving them back another inch when they crept forwards. “Can you play nice or do I need to play chaperone?”

“When they come after you, I won't be able to protect you!” Scott yelled at Jackson, ignoring me all together, however still keeping his distance. I dropped my hands and slid back, moving so I stood beside Stiles, watching the exchange wearily. “I can't protect anyone.”

His gaze slid to Stiles, who blinked in surprise. “Why are you looking at me?” he asked confusedly. He glanced to me, looking for answers. I shook my head, telling him this wasn't the time.

“You know what? Now you _have_ to do it. Get me what I want and I will be fine protecting myself.”

I fought the urge to face palm at the ludicrousness of his statement. I hated the ignorant teenage boy, and suddenly murder was looking like a hell of a good time. “No, you won't,” Scott groaned. “Just trust me, all it does is make things worse!”

“Oh yeah really? Now you can you hear everything you want and run faster than humanly possible. Sounds like a real hardship, McCall.”

“Yeah, I can run really fast now. Except half the time, I'm running away from people trying to _kill me_!” He calmed down a tad, sighing. “And I can hear things like my girlfriend telling people that she doesn't trust me any more, right before breaking up with me. I'm not lying to you! It's _ruins_ your life.”

“It ruined your life. You know, you had all the power in the world and you didn't know what to do with it. You know what it's actually like? It's like you turned sixteen and someone bought you a Porsche when they should have started you out with a nice little Honda. Me? I drive a Porsche.”

He turned around and stormed back into his precious Porsche (which I made a mental note to key next time I saw it in the school lot), sliding in and driving away with an unnecessary engine rev.

“What a douche-canoe,” I mumbled, turning around and slipping back into the car. When the boys didn't move I tapped the outside of the door. “Come _on_ ,” I prompted them. “I've got shit to get done.”

Scott got dropped off first, on the edge of the reserve. He was quiet most of the drive, mumbling a thanks to his best friend and tumbling out of the car, wandering almost aimlessly into the woods. I was curious, but I figured it was werewolf business or something, and didn't pry.

“Hey Stiles,” I said as he drove me back towards my house.

“Hey Jules,” he replied, and my brow furrowed for a brief moment. I wasn't sure when he started calling me that on a regular basis, or even when I'd decided I didn't really mind.

“What do you know about wireless internet?” I asked him, keeping my eyes on the passing scenery.

There was a pause. “You mean Wifi?” he asked, his tone amused.

“Yes, yes,” I muttered impatiently, crossing my arms. “Do you know how to fix it?”

“Um, depends what's wrong with it, really,” he said, and I saw him shrug from the corner of my eye.

I dug in my pocket, eventually pulling out a handful of crumpled bills. I took a moment to count it. “I'll give you seven dollars if you'll come into my house with me and take a look at my Wifi,” I told him, finally looking his way.

He snorted, sending me a look like he honestly wasn't sure whether or not I was being serious. “You don't have to bribe me, Jules,” he said with an amused grin. “We're friends, and friends help friends with their Wifi.”

I hesitated, but it was clear he wasn't taking the money, so I slipped it back into my pocket and chose to remain quiet for the rest of the trip. When we got to my modest little house I led the way up the drive, pulling out my keys and shoving the correct one into the lock.

“So what seems to be the problem?” Stiles asked with a smirk as I led the way over to the little machine sitting on the windowsill in my lounge room. I pointed to it, then to my old laptop sitting on the old oak desk in the corner. “Wow, how old is this thing? 203?” I shot him a dirty look at the dig about my age, but only to cover the smile threatening to break out, and he shot me a cheeky grin in response. He leaned forwards and booted it up. “I'm surprised you use a computer at all,” he said. “I thought you lived like one of the Amish.”

I rolled my eyes at him, moving to stand beside him as I watched him open up some sort of menu. “I have some friends in other countries that like to send emails, I guess they're 'hip' like that.”

Stiles chuckled, and I shot him a curious look. “You're so old,” he said, but it didn't sound mean or scathing. In fact it sounded sort of...fond.

Before I could comment his stomach rumbled, a sign I took to mean he was hungry. Because humans needed food to survive. Right. “Want something to eat?” I offered, moving away from the desk where he was working and towards my kitchen.

“That'd be awesome,” he responded distractedly. I moved into the other room, my shoes tapping against the tiles. I opened the fridge, staring into its depths. Covering two of my three shelves were assorted blood bags, on the other was an apple and a pack of gum, in the door was a can of lemonade and in the drawer at the bottom was an onion.

I frowned, pulling out the apple and can of lemonade. I may not have been a good cook, but I was one hell of an expert with a knife. I slid one out of its drawer and cut the apple into quarters, then I put it on a plate. I carried it out to Stiles, offering the food and can of drink to him.

He looked down at what I offered him with a raised eyebrow. “An apple?”

I shrugged sheepishly, biting my lip. “It was literally this or an onion.”

He laughed and took the food from me, immediately cracking open the can and taking a sip. “You know, if you're going to start making human friends, you should probably begin stocking your pantry a little better. Just because _you_ don't eat, it doesn't mean the rest of us should starve.”

He said it jokingly, but he had a point, so I filed it away for later. He chewed on the apple slices as he worked, taking only another minute before he'd found the problem.

“You haven't updated your computer in awhile, have you?” I stared at him, not sure what he meant. “You know those messages that pop up, asking you to update?” he asked slowly, trying a different approach. “Do you press 'remind me later'?”

“Yes.”

“There's your problem,” he said with a grin, shoving another slice in his mouth. “I fixed it for you,” he said, taking in my tense expression. “It's updating now. It might take a while. Do you want me to hang around until it finishes?”

“I think I can handle it,” I said, twisting my hands together in front of me. “I've got some stuff to do around town, so I'll just see you later?”

“Sure,” he smiled before lifting up the can of drink, “Can I take this home with me?”

“Yeah, not like I'll drink it,” I told him, leading him back out to the entryway. “Thanks, Stiles,” I said awkwardly, not really liking how _small_ the words made me feel.

“Any time, Jules,” he said with a grin and a wave, ducking out the door and heading for his Jeep.

It was quiet for a long time after Stiles left. I found I didn't like it as much. I used to enjoy the quiet, but now I'd had a taste of Stiles' presence, I found that being by myself just didn't cut it anymore. I tried not to think about what that meant, focusing instead on reorganising my book collection while I waited for the update to finish.

My phone rang as I was finishing off some long-overdue emails to my friends in Montreal, and I glanced at the screen, raising a curious eyebrow when I saw _Allison_ flashing in block letters.

“Yes?” I answered the phone abruptly, reaching across the desk and picking up a cigarette before wandering out onto the porch to smoke it. I didn't like smoking inside, the smell drove me crazy, made me crave it all the time.

“Juliet,” Allison said, her voice sounding shaky.

“Yes?” I repeated, not really in the mood to socialise.

“If I ask you a question, will you answer me with total honesty?”

I hesitated. The answer was, of course, no, but something told me that was the wrong thing to say. “Yes,” I said once more, frowning at how illiterate I sounded today.

“Do you think Scott and I should be together?”

It took me off guard, because how the hell was _I_ supposed to answer _that_? Did I look like this town's fucking supernatural matchmaker? “Why don't you go to Lydia with this sort of thing?” I suggested, taking in another lungful of chemicals.

“Lydia's great, really,” she said. “It's just that she sort of...well, she made out with Scott in Coach's office.”

“Yeah,” I chuckled, remembering that night a few days ago on the full moon when Stiles had been whining about it to anyone who would listen. “I know. Stiles told me all about it.”

“Oh,” she sighed, and I got the feeling I'd said something wrong, even though I'd tried my hardest not to.

Did I think she and Scott should be together?

No.

He was a werewolf and she came from a family of hunters. It was doomed from the fucking start. One of them was going to end up dead – and not even I wanted that to happen. But I had to remind myself to be gentle and not so blunt for once. Not everyone had skin as thick as mine.

“I think that the only person who gets to decide whether you should be together is you and him.”

Was that good advice? It sounded solid enough.

“Yeah, I guess you're right,” she sighed.

“Maybe you should take a day off from worrying,” I suggested in my lightest tone, flicking the ash from the end of my cigarette and halfheartedly waving back at my elderly neighbour who was gardening in her front yard. “Enjoy a smoothie, draw a bubble bath, read an old paperback, listen to your favourite record. It'll do you wonders.”

She giggled over the phone line, and I felt proud that I'd _finally_ said something at least a little right. “They don't call them 'records' anymore Juliet,” she said in amusement.

I smirked to myself, glancing up at the cloudy sky, wishing it would just rain already. “I guess I'm what they call an old soul.”

“Born in the wrong generation?” she asked with another laugh.

“Something like that,” I replied with a bitter smirk. “Listen, I've got to go,” I told her, I really did have things to do in town. “And look, about the Scott thing, I will say this: he's a good guy,” I said, cringing even as I said it at how cliché it sounded. Maybe they were doomed, but if I had to hear either of them whining any more about their lover's quarrels, I'd jump off a building just to give them something else to whine about. “He fucked up, but I think he's worth a second chance.” I said, and despite it all, this was true. “But like I said, it's your decision.”

There was a pause.

“Thanks Juliet,” she said, a smile in her voice. “You actually really helped.”

“Don't get used to it,” I told her coldly, hanging up immediately after for good measure.

* * *

I stared at the shelf of cereals. Why the bloody hell were there so many options? Through a process of elimination I'd narrowed it down to two potential candidates. One was called Fruity Pebbles, the other Lucky Charms. I contemplated which one Stiles would like best, then after reading the ingredients, decided he seemed like a marshmallows-for-breakfast kind of guy.

I tossed the Lucky Charms into the cart, moving further down the isle. I didn't have a list, I just showed up and figured I'd buy what seemed like must-haves for any kitchen. I reasoned with myself that if anyone came through my house and saw it empty of food, they'd ask questions I didn't want to have to answer, so it was really in my best interest to stock the place with food. It was absolutely _not_ justsolely for Stiles' benefit.

Pasta was next. I wondered what kind regular people bought. Should I just get every kind? What kind would Stiles like best?

And as though I'd conjured him with my thoughts, a bewildered Stiles appeared in front of me, bag of carrots in one hand, a can of shaving cream in the other.

“Juliet?”

“Stiles?”

We stared at each other for a moment. “What are you doing?” he asked cautiously, looking at me through suspicious, narrowed eyes.

“Shopping,” I said defensively, my grip tightening on the handle of my cart. “Is that a crime?”

“Not a crime,” he said carefully. “Weird though. Out of character even, considering you don't eat.” He continued to observe me quietly while I forced my face remain impassive. Suddenly his eyes lit up like he'd solved a puzzle. “Is this because of what I said at your house earlier?”

“No,” I replied too quickly, immediately wincing as I heard myself. A cheeky smirk worked its way onto his face and I rolled my eyes. “Don't flatter yourself,” I said, my tone scathing. “You just made me realise it looked suspicious not to have any food in the house. That's _all_.”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded, that shit-eating grin of his still intact, clearly not believing a word coming out of my mouth. I bit back a sarcastic remark, turning back to the shelf full of pasta and frowning at the many options. How was I supposed to know which one to get? Which kind went better with the sauce I'd gotten? What kind had the best nutrition?

“But I guess, since you're here, you could pick out the basics for me,” I said casually, keeping my eyes on the colourful boxes in front of me.

I could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke. “You mean _help_ you?”

“I mean _assist_ me,” I corrected cooly.

He chortled but otherwise didn't respond, his hand snapping out in front of me and picking out a small assortment of options, surveying them for a moment before dropping them in the cart. “I've been thinking,” he said, shoving his purchases under one arm before falling into step with me, making our way to the end of the isle.

“Alert the media.”

So much for no sarcastic comments.

“I've been _thinking_ ,” he began again, completely ignoring my unnecessary input. “How do you go out in the sun?”

I was silent as we made our way through the confectionary isle, Stiles picking out the odd packet of chocolate or marshmallows as we walked.

“I mean, so far, there's been some truth to most legends, and it's the most well known fact about your kind. Werewolves change on a full moon, and vampires can't go out in the sun,” he recited, clearly speaking directly from his research.

I wondered whether I should tell him, watching as he pulled out two little bottles of salt and pepper out once we were in the next isle, slipping them into the cart before muttering something about spices. It couldn't hurt, I reasoned. I couldn't imagine telling Stiles would ever actually come back to bite me in the ass.

I stopped dead in the isle, causing Stiles to kick his toe on the wheel of the cart. He cursed, frowning as he looked up at me expectantly. I held up my hand, one single finger raised in the air.

“Are you seriously flipping me off right now? That's not an answer to my question.”

I let a smirk slide across my lips. “I'm doing both,” I said with a goading grin. “ _Multitasking_.” He shot me a sour look, so I rolled my eyes and held my hand out palm down, showing him the array of rings littered over my fingers. I let go of the cart with my other hand, using my index finger to point to the large, old ring that sat on the middle finger of my left hand. “See this ring?” I asked, and his eyes flickered between it and me confusedly. “This is what keeps me from turning to dust in the sun.”

“So you _do_ burn up in the sun!” he exclaimed brightly.

I rolled my eyes, forcing myself not to flinch when he grasped my hand, pulling it closer to his face in order to get a better look at the piece of jewellery.

“How does it work?”

“I don't know,” I admitted, ignoring how warm and smooth his skin was. “Something to do with the stone, I think. It has to be a lapis lazuli. All I know is a witch spelled it for me centuries ago. I don't for a second pretend to know how that mumbo-jumbo works.”

His hands dropped mine like I'd burned him, and he stared up at me, something like glee spread upon his face. “Witches exist?” he asked in a hushed tone, thrilled by the information.

“Vampires, werewolves,” I shrugged, sliding both hands back on to the handle of the cart and pushing it further down the aisle. “It's not such a huge jump.”

“Do you know any?” he questioned eagerly, absentmindedly throwing an arm out and picking up a can of whipped cream, placing it gently in the cart. “Do you have witch friends?”

“I know plenty,” I said with a small grin. “Don't know if I could call any of them _friends._..”

“None of them like you?”

“Hey,” I cried indignantly, pretending to be hurt by the assumption. “How do you know it's not _me_ who doesn't like _them_?”

“Um, because I've _met_ you?” he responded dryly, a mischievous smirk on his lips. “And we may not have known each other for long, but I can tell making friends isn't your strong suit.”

“I'm friends with _you_ , aren't I?”

“Yeah, but I'm easy,” he replied, tripping over air as he realised how that sounded. He cleared his throat and rubbed at the back of his neck, red blotches appearing on his face.

I rolled my eyes, not bothering to hide my own smirk. “Witches aren't known for their love of...” I paused as an elderly couple wandered passed, shooting them my warmest smile – so, just on the right side of cool. “ _My kind_ ,” I muttered under my breath so nobody overheard. “We tolerate each other.”

“Are there any in town?” he asked just as quietly, picking up a packet of cookies, considering them for a moment before nodding to himself and dropping them in with everything else.

“Not that I know of. They're not like wolves, they don't have a scent, so they're harder to pick out.”

“Then how do you know if you've met one?”

“There's this...crackle in the air,” I tried to explain. “Kind of like static. You can only feel it when they're close by and doing something...witchy. Plus, if they know who we are, they usually seek us out to set down ground rules. Judgy little things, witches.”

“Man, I'd love to meet one,” he said as another colourful packet was tossed into the cart.

“Stick with me kid,” I said with a smirk and a Brooklyn accent. “I can show you the world.”

He spun around and gaped at me for a full ten seconds. “You have a sense of humour?” he finally asked, and I rolled my eyes.

“I'm not a robot,” I responded, doing my best to frown, forcing away the smile dancing at the corners of my mouth.

“Is that like a vampire thing, then?” he inquired seriously after a long pause as we made our way into the frozen foods isle. “The emotions, or lack thereof?”

I watched him pull open of the glass doors, grasping onto a bucket of ice cream, putting it in the cart and rubbing his hands on his jeans to warm them up. “I'll tell you what _is_ a vampire thing,” I said, very obviously changing the subject, but I didn't care. “We don't get cold.”

“Really?” he asked, thankfully not bringing attention to my avoidance of the topic. “Like, ever? You wear jackets all the time though.”

“To keep up appearances,” I responded lightly. “It wouldn't be smart to wear a t-shirt in a snow storm, it'd draw too much attention. So I got used to putting on a coat whenever it looks cold.” My eyebrows pulled together as he tugged a bottle of chocolate milk off the shelf. “Besides, lessens the chances of somebody feeling how unnaturally cold my skin is and getting grossed out.”

“I don't think it's gross.”

My smooth steps didn't falter as I glanced over at him with sharp eyes, considering his words carefully.

Those familiar red blotches appeared on his freckled cheeks and he cleared his throat, pretending to be focused on the label of a tub of butter. I watched him for another long moment before finally turning away and gazing unseeingly at the shelf of chilled dairy goods.

Every time the kid opened his mouth he surprised me in the best possible way, and I didn't think I'd ever get used to it.


	13. Beautiful With You

_I've been the strong one for so long_

_But, I was wrong_

_Doesn't make you weak cause you needed someone_

_I'm not holding back and I know what I want_

Beautiful With You – Halestorm

* * *

“Are you going to the dance?”

I looked up from my book, pulling the cigarette from between my lips and looking up at Stiles with a raised eyebrow. “No,” I said, flicking the ash from the tip before looking back down at the words on the page.

“Why not?” he asked me, sliding down the brick wall I was leaning against until he was sitting beside me, his bag next to him.

“Because I don't care?”

“Is that your answer for everything? That's not a very good attitude to have towards life.”

“I don't care.”

He groaned in annoyance, and I could feel him roll his eyes. “What if I told you I needed you to go to that dance?”

I slipped the bookmark back between the pages of my novel, snapping it shut and shoving it into my bag, taking another drag before looking over at him with a frown. “Please tell me this isn't you asking to be my date.”

He cringed immediately, practically recoiling at the thought. I was kidding, but his reaction stung a little bit, not that I would ever admit it. “Of course not,” he said. “Listen, Scott needs to get into that dance, and I figure if he runs into any trouble then having compulsion-capable vampire on hand would make things run a bit smoother.”

I considered his words as I blew smoke rings. It wasn't like I actually had any plans for that night, and it wouldn't be the end of the world if I did go. I might even end up enjoying myself. (I doubted it, but stranger things had happened.)

“Fine,” I said, crushing the butt of my cigarette in my hand, singeing my skin before I dropped it to the ground, the minor wound healing instantly.

“Great!” he chirped happily, looking like he was holding himself back from fist pumping the air. “Okay, so I already bought you a ticket,” he said, digging in his bag for a moment before pulling out a small piece of paper.

I took it with a frown. “How'd you know I'd say yes?”

“I have _some_ faith in you, you know?” he replied with a smirk, clapping his hands together. “Now, next on the agenda. A date.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Jules—yes!” he whined.

I didn't reply, I knew that if I did we'd just end up going round in circles. I glared at him, but it didn't seem to put him off. He turned to scan the quad, searching for a potential candidate.

“Look, you can't show up alone, it's pathetic,” he said flippantly.

“ _You're_ pathetic,” I grumbled sourly, but he didn't take it to heart.

“Would you just pick someone? I'd do it for you, but the only person I know of that doesn't have a date yet is Greenburg,” he said, still searching the crowd.

“I'd rather carve my eyes out with a butter knife.”

“Thought so,” he hummed before gesturing for me to move forwards. “Would you just go ask someone already? Worse comes to worst you could just compel yourself a date.”

I looked at him, affronted by the suggestion. “I don't need to compel anyone to get a date,” I hissed in annoyance.

“Prove it,” he said with a smug grin, and I knew he was baiting me, playing me like a fiddle. But I found I didn't really mind. I shoved my bag into his arms, sliding to my feet and marching across the quad. I paused in the centre, my eyes scanning the gathered humans, looking for a victim.

Mostly everyone was in groups, giggling amongst themselves or shoving each other playfully. I didn't feel like approaching any of the clusters, so when I spotted a boy sitting on a bench off to the side with his head in a book, I jumped at the opportunity.

“Hello,” I said, appearing in the spot next to him. He jumped a mile high, a high pitched yelp escaping his lips as he dropped his book, it landing with a thud to the cement. I reached down and scooped it up, brushing the dirt off of it before handing it back, listening to the sound of his heart slamming against his sternum.

“Uh, h-hello,” he stuttered awkwardly, looking incredibly confused as to why I'd approached him. And maybe just a tiny bit scared.

I decided to just get it over with. “Do you want to go to the dance with me?” I asked him casually, lips curving up as his heartbeat sped up even further at my words.

“Do I—what?” he stammered in pure confusion.

“Want to go? To the dance? With me?” I said again, slowly in case he wasn't all there in the head. He seemed intelligent enough, however, and I hated to make assumptions.

He was silent for a long time, watching me. “Do you even know my name?” he asked finally, brow furrowed.

“No,” I admitted easily. I stuck out my hand, knowing it was the polite thing to do. “I'm Juliet.”

“I—I know,” he said, slipping his hand into mine. His skin was warm and smooth against my own, and he made no comment about the temperature. “I'm Isaac. Isaac Lahey.” I shot him my sweetest smile, and he returned it with a shaky one of his own. He was actually quite attractive once I noticed it. He had curly ash blonde hair and a jawline that could cut glass. His eyes were an astonishing baby blue, and I got the feeling he was sort of a loner. Maybe he wasn't such a bad choice then, after all. 'Birds of a feather', and all that. “Is this some sort of joke?” he added hesitantly.

I tilted my head, letting go of his hand and crossing my arms. “No,” I said honestly. “Why would it be a joke?”

“Because well – why would you ask _me_?” he said like it were glaringly obvious.

“I need a date, and you were the most appealing option in the quad,” I admitted, seeing no point in lying. I didn't care about impressions, or his feelings. Either he'd say yes or he wouldn't, and I couldn't have been bothered either way.

“I appreciate your honesty,” Isaac said with slightly more of a comfortable smile, seeming to warm up to me – which was ironic in and of itself.

“So will you?” I asked, and he tilted his head curiously. I tried not to roll my eyes. “Go to the dance with me?”

“Oh, um,” he mumbled, frowning at his shoes for a long moment before speaking up again, voice small and a little shy. “Yeah. Yeah, I will,” he agreed quietly.

“Great,” I said with a smile that came easier than I expected. I realised suddenly that this meant we would have to make some kind of _arrangements_. “Uh, maybe next lunch I could...” I trailed off, wondering where to go from there.

“We have English together,” he said awkwardly, scratching a spot behind his ear, cheeks flushing a soft pink that made me lick my lips with hunger. It wasn't the same blotchy blush that appeared on Stiles' face whenever he was embarrassed, but it was still nice. Appetising. “And Chemistry,” he added gently.

“Oh,” I replied, blinking back at him in surprise. “Right. Well, I'll see you in one of those and we can go over the details?” I offered, just a little stilted.

“Sounds good,” he nodded, a small smile once again growing on his pale lips.

“Great,” I smiled, forcing it to light up my eyes. Humans tended to get freaked out whenever I didn't let the smile meet my eyes. I'd learned over the years how to manipulate them into trusting me. “See you, Isaac,” I said with a final nod.

He raised a hand in farewell, but I was already sliding from the bench, striding back towards Stiles, whose eyes followed my every move.

“One date; no compulsion,” I told him smugly, slipping back into my previously vacated seat and moving my bag back to my lap. Stiles had a sour scowl twisted across his face, and he stared at me with distracted eyes, like I posed some kind of frustrating riddle. One he desperately wanted to figure out. “Who pissed in your cereal while I was gone?” I asked, one eyebrow cocked in question.

All at once the expression cleared and he rolled his eyes, back to his usual self. He leant back against the wall and smiling slightly, but I couldn't help the instinct that told me it was hollow. “Okay, step two: completed. Step three: a dress,” he said quickly.

“I'll just wear something from home,” I waved off his words.

“Jules, come on,” he whined. “Look, Allison wants me to meet her at the mall after school, she said she has something to tell me. Why don't you come with me and we'll pick out a dress?”

“ _We_?” I asked dubiously, raising an eyebrow at him.

That blotchy red blush appeared on his freckle splattered cheeks, and I licked my lips again, hunger roaring in my gut. Stiles cleared his throat, and I realised I was staring at him a little more intently than was comfortable. “I mean, you can pick one out and I'll just be there for … for moral support,” he told me awkwardly.

I laughed quietly at his expense, tipping my head back to bump against the bricks behind us. “Whatever you say Stiles,” I said, pulling free another cigarette, hoping it would help curb the hunger pangs in my stomach. But somehow, I knew it wouldn't.

* * *

Stiles looked incredibly out of place in the women's section in the shop we were in, standing with his arms crossed as I sifted through the racks, looking for something that wasn't totally repulsive. I picked out a white cotton dress, holding it up against me and raising a curious eyebrow at him. He frowned and shook his head.

“You're too pale to wear white,” he said. I crinkled my nose at him but didn't disagree, slipping it back into place and moving on to the next rack. “Is that like a vampire thing? The paleness?”

He spoke loudly, and a woman a row over shot him a suspicious look. I rolled my eyes at his lack of tact. “Say it louder, I don't think the cashier heard you,” I told him sarcastically and he winced in apology. “But yes, it is a trait of vampirism to be extraordinarily pale.”

I pulled out another dress, this one dark blue and ankle-length. I appraised it for a long moment before shaking my head, not even bothering to get Stiles' opinion before putting it back and moving on. “Check this out,” I heard from behind me, and I turned around to look at Stiles who held up a bright pink poodle skirt that looked straight out of something from an old movie. “Did you ever wear this sort of thing, you know, ' _back in the day_ '?”

I wanted to say no, but I didn't want to lie. I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck for a moment before replying. “Yeah,” I admitted, forcing my lips up into a smile. Stiles' face lit up excitedly.

“You have pictures, right?” he asked eagerly and before I could stop myself I nodded. He threw his fist into the air in celebration. “Oh man, I can't wait to see them.”

I rolled my eyes, but no longer was I forcing my smile. Instead it came naturally, stunning me with its ease.

“You ever meet Elvis?” he asked after a beat as I tugged a lilac dress from the rack. I held it up against myself, then moved and held it up against him. He rolled his eyes but struck a pose anyway, and I smirked before putting it back.

“If I say no, will this conversation end?” I asked him scathingly, though it lacked any real bite.

I might as well have been beating a dead horse, for all the good it did.

“So you _have?”_ he asked excitedly, practically bouncing on his toes.

“Yeah,” I shrugged, grinning over at him. “I compelled my way backstage at one of his Vegas gigs, it was pretty cool.”

“You've been to Vegas?”

“Many times.”

“Man, I'd love to go there. Gotta wait until I'm twenty-one though, otherwise there's really no point in going … that is unless _someone_ hooked me up with a realistic fake ID––”

“No.”

He humphed, but knew to stop pushing. I smirked at him, watching as he picked up a women's fedora sitting on a shelf and tossing it onto his head. He paused, going cross-eyed as he looked up to see it. I snorted into my hand at the sight.

“Uh-uh,” I shook my head negatively, wiggling my fingers for him to put it back. “Nope, never put a hat on ever again.”

“What?” he asked dubiously, placing a hand to the hat protectively.

“It makes you look like a douche,” I told him honestly, and he grimaced before taking it off and setting it back down where he found it.

“How about James Dean?” he asked again after a moment as I eyed a magenta dress.

It wasn't hard to see he was continuing our previous topic, and I winked at him over my shoulder. “Oh yeah.”

“Really?” he questioned giddily.

“Nope,” I laughed, watching him deflate. “I did meet Marilyn Monroe once though.”

“Where?”

“She came and gave a talk at the college I was in at the time,” I shrugged. “She wasn't really famous then though, so I didn't think it was a big deal until years later.”

“Who else?” he asked eagerly.

“Hung out with Prince at a party once. That was a good night. Billy Crystal is a total dog, and don't even get me started on David Bowie.”

“You have literally the coolest life,” he gushed, picking out a black dress and holding it up for me to see. I shook my head at it and he slid it back into place.

“Yeah, being one of the undead and a complete social pariah is a real score,” I replied sardonically and he tutted quietly, rolling his eyes at my dramatics.

We were quiet for a long time, me sifting through dress options and Stiles waiting patiently, until I'd finally narrowed it down to two dresses. I slipped into the changing room without telling him, not wanting to make a big deal of it.

I put on the green strapless one first. On the rack it looked gorgeous, but on it made me look like I was wrapped in seaweed. I swapped it for the red one, and after a full minute of staring I decided it was acceptable; tight around the bodice, made with delicate lace with long, loose sleeves and a short hemline. “Jules?” Stiles asked loudly from outside, and reluctantly I slipped from the changing room, standing in front of the curtain, my hands curled together awkwardly in front of me, my eyes on my shoes. “Huh,” he hummed as he stopped in front of me, and I felt his eyes rake my body.

I realised I was being ridiculous and looked up, meeting his coffee coloured eyes.

He was smiling. “It's not terrible,” he said casually, and for his sake I ignored the way his heart was racing. I nodded and went back behind the curtain, pulling it off and tugging on my old ripped jeans and comfortable baggy sweatshirt.

Stiles' text alert went off as I slipped my feet back into my worn combat boots.

“Allison's says to meet her and Lydia at the perfume counter,” he told me when I stepped out, red dress thrown over my arm.

Great, Lydia was tagging along – just what I needed. Still, I nodded without complaint, moving over to the counter, placing my items on it and pulling out my wallet.

“That'll be $245.59,” the cashier told me, and Stiles sucked in a breath from behind me.

“Jules, are you kidding? Get something cheaper, you don't even want to go to this stupid thing...”

“Stiles, relax,” I said, throwing him a reassuring smile over my shoulder.

“No way, seriously,” he began, reaching forwards to move the dress off the counter. I slapped his hand away, glaring at him warningly before he could continue.

I handed the confused looking lady my card before leaning back to whisper to him, “I have over a hundred years of interest in my bank account, Stiles. Trust me when I say this won't even put a dent in my hoard.”

His face scrunched up as the lady handed me the receipt to sign. I scribbled my signature, taking my bag from her with a nod. “Then why do you live in such a dump?”

“Just because I have money doesn't mean I particularly like spending it,” I told him with a shrug. “Come on, perfume counter's this way.”

“I thought you didn't know your way around the mall yet?”

“I can smell it,” I admitted with a wince.

“Oh,” he muttered before brightening. “Cool.”

We ended up leaning against the counter, people watching as we waited for the girls to show up. “So why's Allison meeting you anyway?”

He lit up at my words. “You'll never believe what she's doing for me.” I stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to tell me what it was. “She's getting Lydia to go to the formal with me.”

My brow touched my hairline for a moment in surprise, before I nodded at the eager boy, smiling unenthusiastically for him. “Great,” I said flatly, and his expression dropped.

“Why don't you like her?”

“Because she's shallow and vapid and just generally boring,” I said shamelessly, turning around and picking up a small bottle of floral perfume, sniffing the lid curiously before spraying it onto my wrists.

“You're wrong,” he said like it was an obvious fact, and I put down the glass bottle, watching him as he struggled to put together the right words. “She's actually really smart. I mean, _really_ smart. She knows more than I probably ever will. And she's kind, underneath the whole 'popular girl' persona. I think she just acts shallow because that's what people expect of her. Kind of like how you act like an uncaring, unfeeling bitch because that's what people expect from you.”

He had a point, though the last thing I wanted to do was admit it.

“Would you just give her a chance?”

Then he looked at me with those big, sad, eyes and I couldn't find it in me to say no.

“Sure,” I muttered, nose crinkled like I smelled something putrid.

His pleading expression gave way to a satisfied grin and I rolled my eyes again. He picked up a bottle of his own, sniffing it before accidentally pressing the trigger, making it spray in his face. He coughed, dropping the bottle. I picked it from the air, catching it before it could hit the ground and laying it gently on the counter, much to the relief of the worker behind the counter.

“Hey guys,” Allison greeted us with a bright smile, waving happily, a scowling Lydia reluctantly on her tail.

“Hey Allison!” Stiles chirped, standing up straighter, shooting them a dopey grin. “Hey Lydia.”

The queen bee didn't stop for a moment, not acknowledging that he'd even spoken as she brushed past him, heading straight for the dress section we'd just come from. “What do you think about teal, Allison?” she asked her friend, already intent on searching for an outfit.

“I think it's a great colour, it'll really make your eyes pop,” the older girl responded dutifully.

Lydia nodded and pulled a dress off the rack, throwing it over onto a surprised Stiles. “What's in the bag?” Allison asked me quietly as we trailed along behind the pair, the boy's arms quickly being piled with more clothing.

“My dress for the formal,” I told her.

“Who are you taking?” she asked, leaning closer like I was about to share a piece of scolding hot gossip. Before I could answer, horror suddenly flooded her face, her hands shooting up to cover her glossy lips. “Oh my God,” she whispered, “you didn't want to take _Stiles,_ did you?!”

I jerked backwards at her words. “What? No,” I said immediately, cringing at the very thought. It was bad enough that I was going with any human at all – the last thing I needed was to add someone like Stiles into the equation. “Of course not,” I said flatly, putting as much authority into my voice as I could.

“So, you guys are just friends?” she confirmed, looking for some reason troubled.

“Barely even that,” I shrugged carelessly, but she sent me a knowing sort of look nonetheless.

Okay, so that was a blatant lie; Stiles had the potential to be the best friend I'd had in decades. But that didn't mean I felt comfortable admitting my pathetic, inconvenient affection for the sarcastic little blighter.

“Ah, okay, so are you just gonna try these on right now?” Stiles was asking Lydia from ahead of us. “All of them?”

Lydia didn't have the decency to answer, sticking her nose in the air and strutting off towards the changing rooms. I rolled my eyes but refrained from commenting in an effort to keep my word to Stiles.

“These are pretty,” Allison spoke up again, running her hands over the material of the dresses on the rack.

Before I could answer, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end, my fingertips began to tingle and my mouth went dry. The store was suddenly flooded with power, and I knew it could only come from one source. The alpha was here.

“That's not your colour,” a voice behind us said, and I spun around instantly, pressing my lips together so nobody would see my exposed fangs. Peter was standing beside Allison, looking between her and the dress she held with a critical eye. “Sorry if that was intrusive but considering your skin tone, I'd go lighter.”

“Sorry if _this_ is intrusive, but how about you fuck off?” I snapped, voice bitterly cold.

Allison looked embarrassed by my blatant hostility. “It's fine, Juliet,” she said, looking over her shoulder at me with a small, uncomfortable smile. “It's because I'm pale?” she asked the alpha, staring up at him, no clue of the serious danger she was in. I rocked onto my toes, tips of my fangs biting into my lower lip. If I had a heart, it would have been racing.

“Fair,” the alpha corrected her sweetly. “I mean, you can't call skin like yours 'pale'. Not skin that perfect.”

My hands curled into fists of stone, my nails digging into the skin, though not hard enough to draw blood. “Okay,” Allison giggled, awkward and uncomfortable.

“Trust me, I have a unique perspective on the subject,” he said, twisting around to pick up a new dress. My jaw clicked, and I glanced back to where Stiles stood just out of sight. He was safe, for now. I wished we weren't in a crowded store with security cameras watching our every move. If this meeting had been set in a secluded place it would be going very differently. “Do you mind?” he asked, not waiting for an answer before grabbing her hand and pulling it to him, pressing it to the fabric of the new dress. “See? Much better.”

He put it back where he found it, turning back around to smile at her, completely ignoring me. I got the feeling his ignorance was intended to goad me. I hated that it was working.

“You're not here alone, are you?” he asked Allison lightly. “Shopping for dresses with friends?” I stepped forwards, hesitating only a brief moment before slipping my hand into Allison's. If she noticed my cooler than average skin she didn't show it, squeezing my hand back gratefully while a scared and vulnerable expression appeared on her pretty face. “High school dance,” he said like he was only just figuring it out.

“Formal,” she replied softly, and I bit down on my tongue with my fangs to keep from snapped my jaw at him like the animal I was. I might not be willing to risk exposure, but who knew what this psychopathic bastard would be willing to do? I got the feeling he wasn't as opposed to exposure as I was, making him about a thousand times more dangerous than I'd have liked.

The alpha continued, that smarmy smile fixed into place. “I, for one, think that the light pink dress would do _wonders_ for your-”

“That's enough,” I snapped, unable to restrain myself any longer. I squeezed Allison's hand tighter, reassuring her that I was there, trying to calm her as her pulse picked up with fear. “You need to leave,” I warned the alpha darkly.

“I'm sorry, am I making you...uncomfortable?” he asked, feigning concern. I stepped forwards so Allison couldn't see my face, glaring up at the alpha, unconcerned by our height difference. The blood drained to my eyes, which quickly turned a bloody crimson. His smirk only widened, and Allison desperately tugged at my hand, trying to get me to move away from the creepy man. I got the feeling she was scared for my safety, and if tensions weren't so high, I might have laughed.

“ _Attention shoppers, the owner of a blue Honda licence number: 2IKPL3, your car is being towed.”_

“Oh crap, that's my car,” Allison swore, dropping my hand and moving to dig around in her bag. She turned to go, but suddenly paused and looked back at me warily. “Aren't you coming?” she asked slowly.

“You go. I'll wait for Stiles,” I told her, my eyes never leaving the alpha. I didn't intend to let him leave my sight.

Allison hesitated. “Are you sure?” she asked steadily. She didn't want me alone with Peter, and her concern was endearing.

I glanced away from the alpha to flash her a reassuring smile, fangs hidden back within my gums. “Go, quickly,” I told her, and with a final frown she nodded, turning away and rushing down the aisle towards the exit.

“I continue to be impressed with your ingenuity Scott, but remember: you can't be everywhere all the time,” Peter said, and I blinked, not having realised Scott was with us. For the first time since seeing him I extended my bubble of awareness out, my senses picking up the scent of Scott nearby. “And as for you,” the alpha continued, shifting his piercing gaze down to meet my own. “What's a little vampire like yourself doing in Beacon Hills? Surely you know this is werewolf territory. Wouldn't it be more convenient for you somewhere further east? Say, for instance…Mystic Falls?”

“Convenient, yes,” I replied, a wicked smirk on my face, showing him how unconcerned I was by his thinly veiled threats. “But not nearly as fun. I like giving idiotic pups a run for their money,” I sneered. “Must be my sense of adventure.”

He stepped closer, eyes flashing red for just a split second. I responded in kind. “I'm stronger than you,” he reminded me, the words casual and easy, but hiding a storm of fury.

“And I'm faster,” I countered, unbothered. I stared up at him, the look in my eyes cold as ice. “So I'd say the winner of a wrestling match would be solely up to chance, and are you _really_ willing to take that risk, Peter?” I asked in a trilling, saccharine fort of voice.

The alpha smiled, taking what I'd said with but a grain of salt. “I'm sure we'll find out soon enough, Leach,” he said keenly.

I grinned wickedly, showing off my pearly, razor sharp teeth. “I can barely wait, Mutt.”

With a final, wolfish grin, the alpha disappeared around the corner. There was a beat, and then Scott came tumbling out from his hiding place, his heart beating wildly from within his chest. “Are you okay?” he asked me worriedly.

I blinked in surprise at the unexpected question. “Of course I'm okay,” I said around a frown. “Why're you still here? You should be keeping an eye on Allison.”

Scott seemed surprised by the reply. “I had to make sure you'd be alright,” he told me, like it were obvious.

For just a split second I found myself almost...touched. Then common sense clicked back into place and I rolled my eyes, gently pushing him back the way Allison had gone. “Go find Allison,” I told him shortly. “I'll watch Stiles and the little Barbie doll.”

Convinced, Scott nodded, turning and walking as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself. I watched him go, then once he was out of sight, I turned back to the unlikely pair across the store, resigning myself to another few hours of cosmetic Hell.

* * *

The night of the stupid dance crept up on me, and before I knew it it was here, taunting me with its ridiculousness and convention.

I hadn't been looking forward to it, and now that it was upon me, I was, if possible, even less enthusiastic about the whole thing. I leant against the entrance, cigarette in hand as I scanned the crowd for the boy I'd secured as my date. Neither of us had a car, and he'd said something about how walking to each other's houses would be too far out of our way. Either way, we hadn't arrived together, so now I was just waiting for him to show up.

I tapped the heel of my boot on the ground to the beat of the music coming from inside. I didn't know the song so I couldn't hum along, I just nodded my head and took long, relaxing drags of smoke.

“That'll kill you, you know?” a vaguely familiar voice asked, and I looked up at my date.

He looked good, apart from the split lip and slight limp he was sporting. His suit was a few sizes too big and his shoes squeaked as he walked. “Who kicked your ass?” I asked him teasingly, not expecting the question to make him wince like he was in even more pain. “You clean up nice,” I tried again, and this time he smiled shyly, hands twisting in front of him.

“You too.”

I raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him, referring to my minimal makeup and third-day hair.

He smiled wider. “Seriously, you do.”

That was just the hormones and my unnatural vampiric pull talking, but I let it be, dropping my half finished cigarette to the ground and stomping it out with the toe of my boot. “Shall we?” I asked, inclining my head towards the entrance. He nodded, eager but still shy, and didn't move until I did first, having me lead the way.

The music was louder once we were inside, but I still didn't recognise the song. I walked over to the punch bowl, hoping somebody had spiked it already. I poured a cup, took a long sip and grinned when it had the bite that came with tequila.

“Want some spiked punch?” I called to Isaac over to music, and he nodded, looking a little nervous and red, as though his tie was choking him. I handed one over anyway, something in the back of my mind telling me that it should have been part of my new code of conduct not to supply minors with alcohol, but I couldn't find it in me to care. “Do you want to dance?” I asked after a beat, both of us pressed up against the far wall.

“Uh,” he hesitated, glancing down at his leg with a frustrated look. “I-I don't think I should...”

And I felt relief fill me. I didn't want to dance with him, and this was the perfect out. This whole charade was putting me on edge, but I was full of A-positive and the spiked punch was already working wonders, so I was mostly optimistic that it would keep me from murdering anyone tonight.

“That's fine,” I replied, glad my relief didn't completely leak into my voice. I reached out and grabbed his elbow, tugging him away from the wall and over to the bleachers. It was the furthest away from the source of the music, but I could still feel the bass vibrating in my bones.

We sat down somewhere towards the top, overlooking the sizeable crowd. “So, where're you from?” Isaac asked me, sipping his drink, trying to hide his wince at the taste.

Great, I thought, he wants to make smalltalk.

“New York,” I lied, sticking with the same story I'd been using as a staple in this Godforsaken town. “You?”

“Beacon Hills, born and raised,” he said with a slightly sour smile.

I got the feeling it was the part of the conversation where I was suppose to say something, and I struggling to think of something for a few moments, wondering what the etiquette for this sort of thing was. What was an appropriate question? What were safe topics of conversation for humans?

“Any siblings?” I finally settled on asking, but apparently I'd said the wrong thing. Isaac cringed like I'd just kicked him in the kidney.

He turned his gaze down to the half-empty cup in his hand. “I had a brother,” he told me reluctantly.

_Had_ being the optimum word.

I was quiet for a time, considering how to reply. Eventually I bumped his shoulder lightly with mine and he looked down at me hesitant, probably concerned I'd stammer my way through an awkward apology.

“I had a sister,” I told him, surprised to find myself speaking the truth.

His expression had been sombre, but his eyes changed when I spoke. Was he glad I could empathise, perhaps? I didn't pretend to understand the mind of a human. Control, yes; but understand?

“McCall!” Coach's familiar voice yelled through the hall, bouncing off the walls and clearly audible over the music. Isaac jumped, but I merely looked across the room, eyes locking onto Scott pushing his way through the crowd in a desperate attempt to escape Coach.

I snorted when the teen wolf darted into Danny's arms, making it impossible for Coach to yell at him without seeming like a giant homophobe. All eyes turned to them, the music stopping and everything went silent, leaving the Coach to awkwardly back-peddle out of there with all the grace of a newborn goat.

Isaac was chuckling beside me, quiet and soft. It was a nice change of pace from Stiles' constant fifth-gear presence, and I found myself not having to force my smile. “So, what's the deal with you and Stilinski?” Isaac asked after a few moments of easy quiet.

“We're friends,” I shrugged, finding it easier to admit now. It wasn't such a bad thing; having friends. It made me feel almost _normal_. “He's a good guy,” I added with a nod.

“Yeah,” Isaac agreed. “I haven't talked to him much, even though we've been on the team together all year.”

I drained the last of the spiked punch from my cup before throwing him a surprised look. “You're on the lacrosse team?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, cracking a small smile. “I don't have many friends, so I kind of go unnoticed. I'm not surprised you didn't know.”

It was quiet for another moment as both of us watched everyone dance below us.

“Did you know that Coach lost a testicle to exposure a few years back?”

I started, turning to look at him in surprise. This kid had a knack for keeping me on my toes. “He _what_?” I asked, blinking as I processed this information.

“Yeah, he talks about it all the time,” Isaac laughed, the sound more free and relaxed than anything I'd heard from him yet.

“So, he only has one-?”

“Yeah.”

I threw my head back and laughed loudly. I elbowed Isaac gently, making sure not to break his brittle human skeleton, with the other arm running a hand through my dark hair to keep it off my face. I was about to ask for more details when I felt the heavy weight of eyes on me. I sat up straighter, eyes narrowing as I stared out into the crowd, searching for any hint of the alpha.

I couldn't see the older werewolf anywhere, so I put it down to one of the creepier students and turned back to my conversation with Isaac.

Soon enough the music slowed, and I looked to my date with mischievous eyes. “Can we dance now?” I asked, fluttering my eyelashes dramatically, mostly for the joke of it all. “We could get away with standing still and swaying for a few songs,” I grinned winningly.

Isaac looked like he desperately wanted to say no, but he changed his mind at the last second. “Sure,” he said, standing to his feet, wobbling only minimally, and holding out his arm for me to take. I did so with a smile, leading him down the stairs, careful not to take a suspicious amount of his weight.

We made our way to the edge of the dance floor. He was more than a head taller than me, so the angle I had to tilt myself to probably looked amusing, but I didn't care about the opinion of a bunch of hormonal, promiscuous teenagers.

Isaac surprised me by leaning down to speak into my ear. “Check out the crime scene on Lindsey Farrowfield's neck,” he murmured. I didn't know who that was, and my pointed look said as much. He laughed again. “The one in the pink floral dress, six-o'clock.”

I gently spun us around, pushing myself to my toes to look over his shoulder at the girl. She had several red hickeys spread across the pale skin of her neck, and the guy she was dancing with had a large handful of her ass. I snorted into Isaac's shoulder, feeling him rumble as he laughed at the sight. It was strangely easy, and I found myself … dare I say it? … _enjoying_ myself.

“You know,” I began, tightening my arms around his neck. “You turned out not to be such a bad date, Isaac.”

The boy didn't answer, he just ducked his head and smiled. We danced for a long time, so long I was sure his hurt leg was starting to ache, but he didn't complain once, happy to continue dancing with me. I felt content in the fact that I seemed to have made another friend in this Godforsaken, werewolf-ridden hellhole.

I hoped Myra would be proud.

Isaac pulled back, opening his mouth to say something, only to be cut off by a hand slamming down on my shoulder. I stepped back from the boy, turning to look instead at Jackson, irritated and expectant. “What?” I asked, voice like ice.

“They're here for Scott,” the other human said, breathless, eyes glancing to Isaac before focusing back on me. “Stiles needs you outside.”

He'd had to speak in code with Isaac was listening in, but I got the message loud and clear. The hunters were here for Scott, and something was wrong with Stiles. I pulled away from Isaac, frowning in a way that I hoped looked apologetic. “Sorry, I need to go,” I told him quickly. “I'll see you later.”

I didn't wait for his reply, but it didn't really matter. I took off at the fastest pace a human could get away with, my small heels clicking against the gymnasium floor. As soon as I was out of the gym I pushed myself faster, disappearing to the human eye as I sped through the halls. I all but fell out of the front doors, looking around wildly for my human friend and his stupid, vapid, reluctant date.

“Stiles?!” I shouted, anxiety creeping through my dead veins. It was strange, I hadn't been worried for someone else in what felt like a small eternity. I took a sniff of the cool night air, biting my tongue when I picked up a scent that stood out from all the rest. Blood.

I booked it, rounding the school, dashing onto the field where two figures were kneeling over an unconscious form. I seemed to materialise at their side, but there was no time to assess the damage. The alpha was there, sneering down at the bloodied form, smug and hungry.

I didn't hesitate in my attack. My fist slammed into Peter's jaw, sending him flying back several feet, sprawled across the grass, rather undignified. I knew I'd gotten a lucky hit, having had the element of surprise on my side. I doubted it would be happening a second time. The alpha climbed back to his feet after only a split second, canine teeth bared, a threat and a promise.

I allowed my fangs to slip free. Blood filled my eyes, white turning red, and I let out a purely animalistic snarl, crouching defensively in front of Stiles and Lydia. Peter ran at me, but I dodged out of the way, landing a powerful kick to his abdomen. He grunted but swung around, slamming his own fist into my jaw. My head snapped to the side as the sound of fist connecting with bone made a loud, echoing crack.

There was a beat of silence before I spat out the blood that had collected on my tongue. In a move too quick for Stiles' weak eyes to track, I made to kick the alpha between the legs, but he wasn't as slow as a human and he caught my ankle, using my own momentum against me to slam me into the earth. My head cracked against the ground and spots danced in my vision.

Next thing I knew, I was being manhandled by the throat, my feet leaving the ground and dangling in thin air. I couldn't breathe, but at least I knew that wouldn't kill me. My feet kicked, searching for any sort of traction, any hint of earth to connect to. But there was nothing, only the tightening of an unforgiving fist.

“Asshole,” I choked out around his grip, my nails tearing at the exposed skin of his hand. I might as well have been a mosquito for all the good it did.

“That's what I hate about vampires,” the alpha tutted haughtily, “always so _mouthy._ ” He sighed, turning to face Stiles as he brought me to his chest, hand still wrapped tightly around my windpipe. I was glad to find my feet back on the ground though; silver lining, I suppose. “Since the threat of the human's life wasn't enough to make you cooperate, maybe the life of this vampire's will be...” he trailed off smugly.

I looked at Stiles, listening to the sound of his heart slamming away in his chest. If I'd been able to breathe, I know I would have been able to smell the fear on him. As it was, I could see the panic glittering in his coffee coloured eyes.

“Do you know what a werewolf bite does to a vampire, Stiles?” Peter asked him, watching the boy as he shook, glaring back at him with as much hate as his little human body could muster.

He was so angry that his eyes were watering, and if anything I just felt bad for making him upset.

“It kills them, yes. But not instantly. No, it's a slow and _painful_ death,” he tutted as though it were really a shame, something to be pitied. The thought of holding this _wolf's_ pity made me want to throw up in his face. “First are the shakes, then the sweats. It's like having the flu, I suppose,” he sneered. I could hear the smirk in his sick, smarmy voice. “Then come the hallucinations. Vivid, vivid hallucinations. Then the psychosis, oh, now that's the worst part.” There was a pause, and a tear slipped down Stiles' cheek. “Need I continue?” asked the alpha smugly. He might as well have just said 'checkmate'. “Give me what I want, and I won't bite your little undead girlfriend.”

“Don't do it Sti-” I tried to warn him, but the alpha he me off, tightening his grip on my throat until my voice was all but useless.

“Look,” Stiles began, eyes sliding away from me and over to the alpha. I shut my own eyes in defeat. “I think he knew...” he trailed off shakily.

“Knew what?” Peter prompted him impatiently.

“Derek, I think he knew he was going to get caught.”

“By the Argents? And?”

“And when they were shot, he and Scott … I think he took Scott's phone.”

“Why?”

“Stiles-” I tried again, but Peter shook me like a ragdoll and growled in my ear.

“Say another word and I'll snap your cold little neck,” he warned me, and I glared at him with every ounce of hate I could muster. Which was a whole lot more than the kid ever could. He wasn't born with hate in his bones; not like I was.

“All phones have GPS now,” Stiles said quickly, as if to pull the focus away from me. “So, if he still has it and if it's still on, you can find him.”

The alpha was silent for a long time, considering the human's words. He finally relaxed his hold on my neck, but still held tight enough that I couldn't move, but could at least breathe. He leant forwards, lips brushing my ear as he spoke, making me shiver in pure disgust. “If you run, he dies,” he murmured to me, squeezing in warning one final time before letting me go.

And I didn't run.

Of course I didn't run. As if I could leave Stiles alone with this creep?

I stepped to his side and the kid's hand instantly wrapped around mine, tugging me behind him like that would in any way protect me. It was strangely heroic for a human, but I gave it no thought, glancing down at the unconscious girl on the ground. She was coated in her own blood, and without thinking, I found myself licking my lips, hunger rearing its ugly head deep in my gut.

“You're coming with me,” the alpha said suddenly. “Both of you.”

“But you don't need Juliet,” Stiles spoke up immediately, stepping even further in front of me in some kind of noble gesture. “Just take me.”

Despite it all, it still took great effort not to roll my eyes. “But you see, Stiles, having a vampire on my side could be _very_ beneficial,” drawled Peter keenly.

“She'd _never_ help you,” Stiles spat vehemently.

Peter only smirked. “I think she will. Especially when it's your fragile human life that hangs in the balance.”

Stiles' heart picked up again, and I squeezed his hand, letting him know I was still there. Peter was a dick, but he was right about one thing – I wasn't going to let anything happen to Stiles. Because I didn't want that added to my guilt, yes, but also because, despite all the odds, he was my _friend._

A thought occurred to me suddenly. “What's to say I don't just take him and run?” I asked, my tone deceivingly light, holding back a torrent of fury and hunger. The scent of Lydia's blood still hung in the air, taunting me with its flavour.

“Then I'll come back the next day. And the next, and the next, and the next,” the alpha tilted his head to the side, peering at me through those evil, beady little eyes. “You can't protect him forever.”

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, raising it to his lips and dabbing at the blood there, completely aware of the sinking dread in my gut. He was right; eventually I'd slip up and he'd get to Stiles. If we ran, who knew how long it could go on for? Our best bet was to ride this through now, maybe I'd get a chance to catch the alpha unawares, get a chance to end this once and for all.

“Come along, children,” he said condescendingly, and I cringed, biting back a quip about how many years I had over him.

“No, I'm not just letting you leave her here,” Stiles protested, hand slipping from mine as he knelt down by a barely-breathing Lydia.

“You don't have a choice, Stiles. You're coming with me,” Peter replied calmly. But Stiles was uncompromising, and Peter frowned down at the girl for a long moment before seeming to come to a sort of conclusion, nodding to himself. “Okay, fine, call your friend. Tell the Jackson boy to come and get her.”

Stiles complied, taking a step away as he called the jock in question. I peered down at the girl with a frown. Either she'd die, or she'd wake up with a new set of canines. Either way, I still didn't like her. As it was, it was just a miracle I wasn't chewing on her neck right now.


	14. Howl

_Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart_

_drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart_

Howl – Florence + The Machine

* * *

As far as car rides went, it was definitely one of the more awkward ones I'd had in my time.

Stiles' heart had yet to slow, continuing to beat like it was trying to escape his chest cavity. The cab of his Jeep reeked with the scent of his fear, but neither I nor Peter mentioned it, which was probably for the best.

The alpha said nothing but to direct Stiles to some kind of parking garage, still and empty of human life. He slid out first, while Stiles and I hesitated. Eventually the kid climbed out too, heart still racing, and I was quick to follow. Before I could intercept, Peter grabbed him roughly by the shirt, dragging the human across a few spaces to where another car sat. I didn't try and rip him back, knowing that would just end up with him getting even more hurt.

I stayed close though, ready to rip out Peter's throat if I got the chance.

“Whose car is this?” Stiles asked curiously as the alpha let him go with a small shove, pulling a set of keys from his pocket.

“It belonged to my nurse,” the alpha responded coolly.

“What happened to your nurse – _oh my God_ ,” Stiles exclaimed, gagging at the corpse that lay curled in the trunk which Peter had thoughtlessly exposed. The kid looked like he was going to throw up, and without thinking I stepped closer, pressing a cold hand to his shoulder in some kind of comfort. He didn't acknowledge it, and his heart, if anything, sped up. But I didn't remove it, even as the alpha shoved a laptop case into Stiles' limp hands.

“I got better,” Peter deadpanned, and I scowled at him, unimpressed.

It was quiet for a moment as Peter shut the trunk, hiding the rotting corpse from sight. The stench lingered, unappetising and repulsive.

He snatched the case from Stiles' hands, ripping it open none too gently. “Good luck getting a signal down here,” Stiles said as I finally slid my hand from his shoulder. My skin felt cool with the sudden absence of his warmth. Peter slipped a small black device from his pocket and handed it to the boy with an annoyed tut. “Oh, Wifi,” the human muttered before glancing up at the computer. “And you're a Mac guy. Does that go for all werewolves or just a personal preference?” he asked, being his usual smart-ass self and buying us – and Scott – precious moments of extra time.

“Turn it on. Get connected,” Peter ordered Stiles with an impatient snap.

“You're really killing the whole werewolf-mystique thing,” Stiles replied under his breath, leaning forward to do as he was told, his fingers beginning to move effortlessly over the keyboard. “Look, you still need Scott's username and password and I'm sorry, but I don't know them,” he said after a long moment of silence, and I shifted warily, glancing up at Peter to see him glowering.

I hadn't missed the clear stutter his heart gave. If _I_ hadn't missed it there was no way _Peter_ had.

“You know both of them,” the alpha growled.

“No, I don't,” the human insisted.

“Even if I couldn't hear your heartbeat, I would still be able to tell that you're lying.”

“Dude, I swear to God-”

Peter's ugly fingers curled around Stiles' neck and slammed his face into the metal trunk of the car. I reacted instantly, a protective instinct surging through me like nothing I was used to. A ferocious snarl ripped from my chest, vibrating my whole torso with its strength as I tugged a dazed Stiles from the alpha's grip, pulling him behind me, where he was safe.

Peter's eyes lit up, a smirk playing at his mouth, like he knew something I didn't, and I'd never wanted to punch somebody more in my undead life. “Interesting,” the alpha purred, a gleam to his eyes that I neither recognised nor liked. He looked past me, focusing his attention on Stiles. “I can be very persuasive Stiles,” he leered, like he was doing us a favour. “Don't make me persuade you.”

“Like you'd get to him,” I interrupted with a growl, shifting my weight to the balls of my feet, readying myself to attack if need be. Peter grinned like I'd made a joke, his guttural chuckles bouncing off the concrete walls of the parking station, making it sound like there were twenty of him there at once. “Laugh all you want, you know how evenly matched we are,” I snarled, cracking my neck absently, prepared to strike, should the opportunity present itself.

“And _you_ know that the second you come at me, I'm going to go at _him_ with everything I have,” Peter threatened without blinking an eye, “and I won't stop until he's dead.”

It was quiet, no sounds in the garage but Stiles' frantic pulse and heavy breathing. Finally, I felt a soft caress to the small of my back, and I relaxed under the touch, rocking back to the flat of my feet.

“It's okay, Jules,” Stiles said in a voice that was surprisingly calm, thumb brushing along the fabric of my shirt in a move I would almost call tender. I nodded, just barely, but he caught it and moved away from me, stepping up to the laptop and beginning to hit the keys. “What happens after you find Derek?” he asked the alpha, glancing over at him with unbridled resentment.

“Don't think, Stiles. _Type_.”

“You're going to kill people, aren't you?” Stiles pressed stubbornly.

“Only the responsible ones.” Peter paused, beady eyes sliding across to me thoughtfully, which I instantly didn't like. I'd yet to move from my position in front of Stiles, not wanting to give the wolf even a moment of opportunity to do the kid any damage. An ugly smirk twisted across his lips before he spoke. “I wouldn't think _you'd_ have a problem with that, Stiles. Your little vampire girlfriend here has spilt enough blood in her time to fill a swimming pool _three times over_. I don't see you judging _her_ for it.”

Anger consumed me, and in the next instant I had the alpha by the lapels of his jacket, my fangs proudly on display as my eyes glinted with blood. The self-righteous prick didn't seem to care, merely shooting me a wide smirk, like I was playing into his little game _perfectly._

“Look, if I do this,” Stiles began shakily from behind us, not for a second rising to the alpha's bait. He was stronger than I was, that much was clear. “You have to promise to leave Scott out of it.”

Peter pushed me off of him like one might brush off an irritating puppy, but I let it happen. If we fought, it was a fifty/fifty on who would win, but there was a huge flaw in those odds; Stiles was here, and Peter wouldn't hesitate for a second to use the kid against me.

“Do you know why wolves hunt in packs?” the alpha drawled, leaning his weight against his stolen car and smirk at the pair of us like he'd already won. “It's because their favourite prey are too large to be brought down by one wolf alone. I need Derek _and_ Scott. I need _both_ of them,” he finished, beginning to sound impatient.

“He's not going to help you,” Stiles sounded so sure of himself.

“Oh, he will, because it'll save Allison,” Peter said triumphantly. “And _you_ will, because it'll save Scott.” Peter's eyes lit up with repulsive mischief, a toothy, wolfish grin appearing on his lips that made me want to recoil. “Or better yet, because it'll save your precious Juliet,” he added with a mocking pout.

Stiles' heart stuttered in his chest, and I glared at the alpha with the full range of my loathing.

It was silent for a long moment, neither of us really knowing how to respond to that, before Peter peaked over my shoulder to view the screen, then his expression flattened in surprise. “His username is _Allison_?” he asked, sounding exasperated. “...His password is _also_ Allison?”

If I hadn't been so focused on the werewolf's every move, trying to calculate his next attack, I would have snorted with laughter.

“Still want him in your pack?” Stiles asked sardonically, glaring at him with sour hatred. “Wait, what? _That's_ where they're keeping him?” he exclaimed suddenly, but I didn't want to risk taking my eyes from Peter, so I didn't so much as blink, even with his full attention on the screen. “His own house?”

It made sense, a pack as big as the Hales would have a pretty decent cellar under their home, fully equipped to hold ravenous, lunar-crazed werwolves. “Not _at_ it. _Under_ it,” Peter confirmed my thoughts with a huff. “I know exactly where that is.”

It was silent for a beat, then a powerful howl ripped through the town like a dart, hitting our sensitive ears. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and my gums tingled, every instinct inside of me telling me to run, there was danger nearby.

“And I'm not the only one.” Peter pushed forwards, moving to pack up the laptop. I stepped backwards and out of his way, taking Stiles with me as I gave him a wide berth. Peter rolled his eyes dramatically. “You can blink, you know,” he sneered at me. “I'm not going to snap.”

I didn't reply as he threw the computer bag in the backseat of the car. There was another howl, this one a higher pitch, clearly from a different wolf.

“Give me your keys,” the alpha ordered Stiles sharply, hand held out expectantly.

The human looked like he was going to protest, but changed his mind at the last second with a resentful huff. “Careful, she grinds in second,” he warned with an angry scowl. He needn't have worried, Peter merely crushed the keys in his hand, giving back the bent bits of metal with a smirk. Stiles stared down at the hunk of metal, gobsmacked, before he pulled himself together and looked back at the alpha warily. “So you're not going to kill me?” Stiles asked in confusion, and I crossed my arms tiredly. “Oh God,” he muttered regretfully as Peter turned back around, taking a threatening step forwards. I shifted so I was in a better position to attack.

“Don't you understand yet?” the creep asked, looking over me to Stiles, ignoring me all together. “I'm not the bad guy here,” he insisted with large, round eyes, clearly looking for sympathy.

“You turn into a giant monster with red eyes and fangs and _you're_ not the bad guy here?”

It was like a stake to the stomach. I noticeably flinched at his words, finally looking away from Peter, not able to handle his smug smirk. “You've clearly never gotten a good look at the _real_ Juliet,” he sneered as I glared at a squished piece of gum on the asphalt. “I like you, Stiles,” he continued blithely. “Since you've helped me, I'm going to give you something in return.”

There was a long pause as we no doubt both wondered what the _fuck_ this psychopath had to offer him.

“Do you want the bite?”

My head snapped up as I made to attack, but I wasn't fast enough, and Peter had already anticipated my move. His hand caught me around the throat for the second time that night and in one smooth movement he shoved me against the side of the car, not looking at me but staring at Stiles calmly, innocently awaiting the boy's reply.

The kid was smart enough not to get too worked up, and I didn't fight the hold, letting him keep me there. He was stronger than me and I had to bide my time, wait until he wasn't expecting me to attack, because that was the exact right moment to do so. “What?” Stiles asked in bewilderment, glancing at me nervously. I tried to shake my head, but I couldn't make the movement around the hold on my throat, so I attempted to communicate through my eyes, trying to get a clear message across.

_NO!_

“Do you want the bite?” Peter repeated like the human was slow. “If it doesn't kill you, and it could, you'll become like us.”

“Like you?”

“Yes. A werewolf. Would you like me to draw you a picture?” he snapped impatiently.

Stiles' gaze slipped between the alpha and I, unable to focus on one thing, a million thoughts flooding his mind. His heart raced, and I could smell his anxiety. I wriggled against Peter's hold, but he merely tightened his grip, so I relaxed again, biding my time.

“That first night in the woods, I bit Scott because I needed a new pack. It could have easily been _you_. You'd be every bit as powerful as him. No more standing by his side while watching him become stronger and quicker, more popular. Watching him get the girl. You'd be _equals_. Maybe _more_.”

“Stiles,” I choked, and Peter tightened his grip on my windpipe.

He couldn't say yes – he didn't want this life, he deserved more than the half-life of the supernatural. I never wanted him to long for the taste of fresh blood. _Never._

Besides, there was every chance it wouldn't work, it would all be for nothing, and he would end up dying in my arms like some kind of selfish martyr.

“And Juliet,” Peter continued like he was sweetening the deal, the sickening smirk apparent on the profile of his face. “I can't imagine how _hard_ it must be for a human like you to keep up with a vampire like her. How hard it must be to be her _friend_. It's funny, really,” he added with a false smirk, “that they can move so fast without really moving at all. Frozen in time, like a painting. Isn't that right, Juliet?”

He looked over at me with a predatory gleam, and with a dull ache I remembered what it was like to be like him. I remembered what it was like to feed off pain and chaos and being in love with not being able to love.

Part of me longed for it, while the other part, the part with a soul, was sickened.

“Imagine being able to keep up with her. Imagine being able to spend time with her without her wanting to rip into your _neck_ and _feast_ on your _blood_ ,” Peter spat in clear revulsion, as though we were really so different. “She'll never _really_ care about you as a human, all you'll ever be is weak; a burden. I can give you a chance to be _more_ ,” he said enticingly.

Stiles gave a shuddering breath.

“Yes or no?” he asked the kid with a note of finality, flashing his canines in a wolfish leer.

The human hesitated, and I wondered if he were really going to say yes. Was he really so weak that he'd give in?

“I don't want to be like you,” Stiles finally spat in forced disgust, but, for all of Peter and I's differences, we could both see through him like he were made of glass.

“You know what I heard just then?” Peter asked with a curl of his lip. “Your heart beating slightly faster over the words 'I don't want'.” He sneered victoriously. “You may believe that you're telling me the truth but you are _lying_ to yourself.” With an unnecessary shove, he finally let go of my throat, and though I didn't actually need to breathe to survive, I sucked in a deep lungful of air, feeling the bruises on my throat already begin to heal. “Goodbye, Stiles,” he said courteously, then nodding in my direction. “Juliet,” he said, spitting the name like it tasted bad.

I growled under my breath in response, but he didn't seem bothered. He slid into his shiny, stolen car, peeling out of the garage with a screech.

The instant the werewolf was gone, Stiles sagged like all his energy had been sucked. I stepped closer, prepared to grasp him should he keel over. He saw me move and reached out, grasping my shoulder and using me, quite literally, as support. I couldn't deny him that, letting him lean on me, acting as somewhat of an anchor.

“Oh God,” he finally muttered, hand clenching and relaxing over and over where it rested on my shoulder. “Oh God. I think I'm gonna be sick.” He began to hyperventilate, heart speeding up in his chest. “And–crap...Lydia,” he said, letting go of my shoulder to place both palms flat against his temples, like he was trying to keep his own thoughts from seeping through his skull and invading the air around us.

I stood there awkwardly. What was I meant to do in this sort of situation? Bar compulsion, there wasn't much I thought I _could_ do, and I sure as hell wasn't stooping to that low, not now, not with Stiles.

I stepped forwards, cringing with indecision for a split second before placing my hands over his own, pulling them away from his head, curling my fingers through his.

It felt odd, I'd been with plenty of people in my time – human and vampire alike – but I'd never really 'held hands' with somebody before. The human seemed to like it, though, clutching me back like he were starving for something that in that moment only I could provide.

“Stiles,” I spoke quietly, unsure but desperate to try something, anything to help. “It's going to be okay,” I assured him, hoping it didn't sound as awkward as it felt.

“But-but,” he stammered, panic escalating. “I don't … I'm not …” he was still hyperventilating. From what I knew of human physiology, that wasn't a good thing.

“How far away is the hospital?” I asked before he could stutter out any other pointless syllables.

He frowned in confusion, struggling to keep up, head as sluggish as it was. “A few blocks,” he answered, clutching my hands tighter still. I didn't squeeze back, not wanting to break his fragile bones.

“Come on,” I prompted him, letting go of one hand, using the ones still connected to tug him along after me. He trailed behind me, completely baffled by my actions.

“No, you have to follow Peter to the Hale house,” he argued as I relentlessly pulled him towards the exit. “You need to be there, to protect Scott-”

“There's no way I'm leaving you alone like this,” I said simply, because to me, it really was that simple.

His hand was clammy in mine, and his heart continued to race. Stiles was panicking, he was alone and he was vulnerable. I was new to the whole 'friendship' thing, but as far as I knew, abandoning a friend in their time of need was hardly good form.

“Come on,” I repeated, letting his hand go and turning around, keeping my eyes on him as I walked effortlessly backwards. “I'll race you,” I added with a small, goading smirk.

“W-what?” he stammered.

“You need to get rid of that adrenaline,” I told him, putting my years at college to use, forcing my lips into a small smile with no teeth on display that I hoped was somewhat comforting. “Besides, we'll get there faster,” I added with a shrug.

“But, but there's no _way_ I could possibly beat you,” he frowned, and I noticed his pulse had begun to slow, if only slightly. I tried not to grin, it was working.

“Not with that attitude,” I replied cheerfully.

“You're a _vampire_.”

“Way to state the obvious.”

I started jogging, and not wanting to be left behind, Stiles rushed to keep up, beginning to pant harder with exertion. I kept my pace painfully slow so I remained running by his side. “Why-why didn't you want to … to leave me alone?” he struggled to ask, a light sheen of sweat appearing on his brow. I looked over at him in question. “Well,” he continued with a gasp, “I-I just thought … you didn't really care.”

“That might be true,” I lied, “but it doesn't mean I want you to _die._ ”

It was clear the last thing he wanted to do was run, but we kept the pace slow, and Stiles was thinking so hard that I could almost hear it. He seemed to pick up on the running being a good thing, and slowly he began to channel his frustrations into his pace. By the time we got to the hospital, Stiles was sprinting, working his anger out on the pavement.

I couldn't imagine it was as satisfying as a punching bag, but it seemed to work for him.

Stiles stopped dead outside the front doors, his flushed face lit up by the glow of the florescent lights inside. His heart raced with the exertion, and he gasped for breath, holding a hand to the stitch in his side.

“Stiles?” I asked, shoving my hands in my pockets and watching him wearily. For me it had been nothing more than a brisk walk, but I found that I had, in a way, enjoyed it. The company was nice, and I liked that I'd helped Stiles overcome his panic attack.

“What if she's dead?” Stiles asked me abruptly.

It wasn't hard to figure out who he meant, but all I could do was remain silent.

What _could_ I say? I didn't care whether the girl lived or died, and to be honest, I'd rather she didn't survive the whole ordeal; it would just be one less werewolf to worry about. I couldn't tell him that though, it wouldn't help the situation and I knew I wouldn't like the judgement that would doubtlessly come with it.

Stiles sighed, accepting my silence and rubbing his eyes for a moment before turning around, taking a step towards the hospital.

In a movement I almost didn't even register, he swung back around, all but slamming into me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me against him in a warm embrace. My head was forced into his collarbone. I raised my eyebrows, arms limp as I stood perfectly still, trying to process exactly what was happening.

Humans didn't _hug_ vampires … they just _didn't._

I might have been getting better at resisting his scent, but having my lips pressed so close to his jugular wasn't helping things at all. So, after a long moment of consideration, I – for his safety, of course – lifted my own arms, winding them around his neck, pushing myself up onto my toes so I could take a deep lungful of clean air over his shoulder.

He seemed to take that as some sort of encouragement and clutched me tighter, forehead pressing to my shoulder. I stayed frozen. We were friends, right? And friends hugged friends, or so I'd heard. So what if the hug was a little more desperate than the average one seemed to be? And so what if as Stiles exhaled, his warm breath made goosebumps appear across the skin of my neck?

He needed this, and it was something I was all too happy to give.

Eventually he pulled away, shooting me a watery smile before rubbing at his eyes once more. “Promise me you'll be careful?” he asked quietly. I crossed my arms over my chest, forcing myself to ignore the heat I could still feel along the front of my body, and tilted my head at him curiously. I didn't understand the request. “You're going to the Hale house now, right?” he asked, and I nodded in confirmation, kind of liking how he seemed to know what I'd do before I said it aloud. “Well, I have a feeling some serious shit is about to go down. And just – just, _please_ , be careful?”

I wasn't sure how to respond. I wasn't a very _careful_ sort of a person, and I didn't want to make a promise I knew I probably wouldn't keep. So, in the spirit of honesty, I decided it best to just not answer. “Go check on Lydia,” I told him, nodding my head towards the automatic doors.

He appraised me for a long moment before seeming to accept this was as good as it was going to get and sighing, turning around and making a beeline for the entrance. With a deep, steadying breath, I made sure nobody was looking my way before disappearing from under the lights, darting back into the trees before anyone had even seen me move.

It took only minutes to get to the Hale house, but once I did, I definitely wasn't met by what I'd been expecting. Derek was on the ground, bleeding from several places on his body, and Scott was writhing in the dirt, hands pressed to his eyes. Two women stood over them, one painfully familiar.

Allison.

And the other must have been the infamous aunt I'd heard so much about.

I knew this was it – the final confrontation. Everything that had happened these last few weeks, it had all been leading towards this. My cover as a 'werewolf' was about to get blown, but what were my other options? Just let Scott and Derek die?

Mentally rolling up my sleeves, I gave it no further thought before I darted out in front of the boys. Blondie was holding a gun to Scott's head, and that just wouldn't do.Knowing the time had come, I didn't bother hiding my true face as I appeared in front of them, black veins winding across my cheeks, eyes blood red and a set of pearly white fangs slipping into view as I slipped passed them too quick to see, ripping the gun from her manicured hand and throwing it deep into the trees that bordered the Hale property.

“Well, I'll be damned,” the blonde one murmured under her breath with what I would call almost a giddy smirk. Allison gasped in horror. I snarled at the pair, the sound dangerous and feral, from where I was crouched in front of Scott, protecting the little wolf from danger. I could hear his heart beating steadily within his chest, and was relieved that he seemed to be mostly okay. “Good thing I have a spare,” the hunter chirped, pulling another gun out from her waistband, a smug gleam to her cold eyes. “Wanna guess what kind of bullets I have in this one?” she asked me impishly.

She could have been bluffing, that I knew. But was it a risk I really wanted to take?

“Kate!” an approaching voice yelled before either of us could make a move, and the woman and her niece both turned to look at the newcomer. I considered attacking, but it was three against one. Also, I didn't want to _kill_ any of these humans – Allison was my _friend_. But my options were beginning to look slim. “I know what you did. Put down the gun,” Chris Argent ordered his sister. I kept my fingers curled into makeshift claws, listening to every sound in the immediate area, looking for danger I knew, in my gut, to be there.

The siblings were muttering between themselves, but I didn't care to listen, my focus on being a barrier between Scott and any harm that might befall him. Kate's gun was still aimed at my chest, almost as an afterthought. It made me wary – if there really _were_ wooden bullets in her gun, one well-aimed shot and I was as good as dust.

Scott slowly climbed to his feet, reaching out a hand to grasp my wrist, gently squeezing in reassurance that he was okay. I inclined my head, repaying the curtesy. But how we were in that moment didn't matter; it was the next, and the next, and the next that we had to survive.

“Put the gun down,” Chris warned Kate again, firing off a bullet into the bark of a tree, proving that he wasn't trigger-shy, “before I put _you_ down.” After a long, tense minute, Kate lowered her gun, glaring venomously at her brother. There was the briefest moment of peace, but I knew it couldn't last. Nothing good ever did.

Before anyone could so much as utter another word, the door to the Hale house behind us creaked open ominously, like every bad horror movie I'd ever seen. That danger I'd sensed nearby, it was apparently closer than I'd thought. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, vampire instincts telling me to _run away, as fast as you can._

“Allison, get back,” Chris snapped shortly, the sound of his weapon being cocked echoing throughout the clearing like a bullet itself.

“What is it?” Allison asked, her voice shrill with panic as she scrambled to her feet, backing away from the house in a hurry.

“It's the alpha,” Scott said, and from the corner of my eye I saw his eyes begin to glow that familiar amber, readying for a fight. Resigning myself to the same fate, I let my hands curl into fists and shifted my stance into a fighting one, ready to attack at the first sign of danger.

We were suddenly united, vampires, werewolves and hunters alike, standing in battle against the alpha, who remained hidden in the shadows, assessing the threat he was up against like any smart monster would. We all stared into the darkness beyond the door, and not even _my_ eyes could pierce through the shadows to see the form of the beast we were to fight.

A large, ugly, hairy shape burst from the shadows, and I dropped into a deeper crouch, baring my teeth in warning. It was fast, faster than I expected, circling around us like a shark might circle its prey. One by one it picked us off, like a wolf picking off cattle in the night.

I was already drained from the bastard's earlier attacks, not to mention that I hadn't eaten in far too long. I tried to follow the alpha's movements, keeping it in front of me while at the same time positioning myself between it and Allison, the most vulnerable of us all.

There was a flash to my left, and the next thing I knew I was on the ground, a gash stretching from one hip to the other, like it had tried to disembowel me in one smooth strike. I snarled in pain, the wound beginning to burn in the way only an alpha's could.

With a growl I put my pain aside to crawl closer to Scott, who had collapsed only feet behind me.

“Come on!” Kate was shouting into the darkness, stupidly goading the beast like some kind of idiot. I ignored her, tilting my head as I listened to Scott's heart beating weakly in his chest. He was alive but gravely injured, and I felt real fear strike through me like lightning.

I couldn't take the alpha on alone – I wasn't strong enough. Nobody had ever taught me how to fight, what I knew was from instinct and experience only, and not only had I not fed recently enough, but if the alpha got its jaws around any part of me – well, according to legend, that was all it would take. One bite and I was done.

So, in the interest of self-preservation I stayed low, tapping Scott's cheeks as hard as I dared, urging him to get up.

“Scott,” I hissed in his ear, tapping his cheeks that little bit harder. He didn't so much as stir; he was out cold.

A shadow flew over my head as Peter threw Kate onto the porch of his burnt down house like she were nothing but a ragdoll. I paid no attention, I didn't have the time. Not even as Allison screamed desperately from behind us, stupidly following her aunt and the alpha into the ruins of the house.

“Scott,” I hissed again, but he barely twitched in response. My middle ached, the wound slow to heal because of its creator being an alpha. I pressed a hand to the nasty gash, feeling cold blood trickle out over my fingers. My guts were still inside of my body, though, which I took to be a good sign.

From the other side of the clearing Derek groaned, and I huffed angrily, moving quickly to the other wolf's side. I didn't feel the need to use such a gentle approach with him – mostly because I didn't actually give a damn – so I slapped him clear across the face without blinking an eye.

The green-eyed wolf sat up with a groan, panting and holding his bleeding abdomen in pain. His unappetising, wet-dog scent wafted around me, and I grimaced, thinking about what I wouldn't give for a human neck to chew on in that moment.

“Can you fight?” I asked him hurriedly, tuning out the sobbing and muttering going on in the depths of the house behind me. Unless the alpha was the one crying, I didn't give a shit. Derek's eyes couldn't seem to focus on me, and so I slapped him again. He grunted, flinching back with the impact. “I said, _can you fight_?” I repeated in a growl. He finally seemed to refocus. He swallowed thickly, then nodded once, and I left him to move back over to Scott, who was just now coming to.

The teen wolf stood shakily to his feet, and I glanced down at my slowly-healing wound. It would take longer than regular wounds to heal, seeing as it was from a shifted alpha. I looked back up at the betas.

“Can you fight?” I asked Scott in a barely-there whisper.

Scott's eyes flickered pointedly down to the massive laceration in my abdomen. “Can you?”

I grunted. “Point taken.”

From there we didn't communicate verbally, instead exchanging nods and hand-signals as we made our way inside. It was safer that way – the alpha couldn't hear our plan of attack.

Scott and Derek approached the alpha from either side, while I came up behind Allison, who was cowering under the impressive height of the alpha, who snarled at her ferociously, canine teeth on full display.

“Run,” Scott muttered Allison, who took a step back, flinching violently when she bumped into me. I caught her in a tight grip.

“Go,” I hissed, and this time she didn't hesitate to spin around and sprint in the other direction. I took a deep breath in, hunger flaring in my gut as I smelt the blood of the very recently deceased Kate Argent, barely sparing her corpse a glance as I focused all of my attention on the alpha.

I could do this without the blood, without feeding off a corpse like some kind of _rodent_. I was better than that.

Scott made the first move, taking a swing at Peter. He deflected it with almost laughable ease, landing a hit to the beta's stomach that send him sprawling to the floor. Derek sprang forwards next, and I copied the action, hoping the advantage of two attacks at once would do some good.

I landed a kick to the alpha's side, and he grunted under the impact. After tossing Derek away like trash, he caught my leg when I came in for another kick. I yelped as he threw me away with a lazy flick of his wrist. I twisted in the air, landing expertly on my feet and sliding across the floor, the dusty wood slick with Kate's freshly spilt blood.

I threw myself forwards with every ounce of speed I had, slipping around the alpha and landing two consecutive hits to his chest, then one to his throat, exposed as he snarled at Scott. He sucked in a breath before shoving Derek away carelessly and swiping down to grab me. It was easy enough to stay out of his grip, and suddenly we were involved in a sort of dance. I stayed just out of reach, landing hits when he was distracted then twirling out of his reach when he was focused on me.

I could have kept it up for hours, but it wasn't actually getting us anywhere. Finally I'd had enough of playing around and I came to a stop, thrusting my elbow into his nose as hard as I could. I listened with sick satisfaction as it cracked, but soon that was overtaken with horror as he turned back to me, face halfway changed. I darted away from him again, flying to Scott's side and helping the kid to his feet as we watched the man fully shift into his wolf form.

“Scott-” I hissed as the boy leapt forwards, only to be caught around the neck and thrown carelessly through the window. I growled as I watched the alpha smash his way through the glass after him. Reaching up, I rubbed at my forehead, pulling my hand away to find it slick with blood. I took a deep breath, rolling my neck and barely sparing Derek a glance before lunging through the gaping hole in the front of the house.

Scott had managed to land a blow to the alpha's chest, sending him flying back into the porch. I took the opportunity, jumping onto to his bulging, disgusting back and locking my arms around his head. But before I could make the snapping motion that would end his life, he thrust me back against the porch steps with enough force that I heard and felt my spine crack.

I gave an embarrassing whimper, collapsing to the forest floor like a boneless sack of dead organs. I did nothing for a long few moments – I hadn't fed recently enough, and the break took longer than I'd have liked for it to heal.

The alpha slid to its feet, satisfied that I was out of the fight for the time being. He approached a panting Scott. Before he could touch him, two bright headlights shined on the scene. All of our heads snapped to stare at the newcomer, and I frowned at the unexpected sight of the expensive Porsche and the two boys within it.

Of course, the absolute _last_ person I wanted to be here was actually here. Stiles climbed from the driver's side, feet barely on the ground before he was tossing what I could identify as a molotov cocktail at the gross beast. I waited with bated breath to see it explode in flames, but was only disappointed to see the alpha catch it like it were nothing but a baseball, keeping it from igniting.

“Oh damn...” Stiles breathed from the tree line. Clearly this wasn't how he'd thought this was going to go.

“Allison!” Scott shouted, scrambling forwards and tossing her discarded bow to her. The girl caught it with deft hands, sliding an arrow into place and lining up at shot, not even hesitating before taking it. It ruptured the cocktail, and I watched with a satisfied smirk as it exploded in the alpha's massive, clawed hand.

He burst into flames, roaring aloud in agony as he unsuccessfully tried to shake the fire off. Another cocktail flew from Jackson's hand, this one hitting the other half of his body. I instinctively edged away from the flames, one of the only three things on this earth that could actually kill me.

The alpha howled in agony, teetering a little too close to Argent for Scott's liking, as he dove for the burning beast, only to be kicked away like a can on the sidewalk. He roared again, dropping to his knees as the fire slowly began to die down. His form faded with it, eventually revealing the man under the fur, his skin covered in angry, red burns. Peter collapsed to the ground, heart only just barely pumping, struggling with everything he had to cling to life.

Everything and everyone was silent, the only sound filling the air was the dying crackling of the fire. I slid to my feet, wincing as my abdomen flared with sharp pain. Allison moved over to Scott, and trying not to think of the obvious parallel, I made my way over to Stiles, unable to help myself. He drew me towards him, like a light shining in the dark.

“I thought I told you to be careful,” Stiles murmured as I approached. He was quiet enough that only the two of us could hear as he eyed the the slit in the body of my dress, the material gaping open to show the ugly wound in my skin. The blood leaking from the gash was making the already red dress an even darker crimson.

“This _was_ me being careful,” I replied with an ease that surprised me, placing a hand over the wound, letting my fingers run along its length, feeling the skin begin to slowly knit itself back together.

“I'd hate to see what you look like after a fight where you _weren't_ being careful, then,” Stiles said, trying to force a smile on his lips. It didn't work, he ended up giving more of a grimace. His expressive brown eyes were shining with worry, a look I wasn't accustomed to seeing aimed in my direction. “Are you okay?” he asked me softly.

I waved off his concern like it didn't mean anything – when, in reality, it meant the whole world. “Nothing a little O-negative won't fix,” I told him, throwing an evil, devious smirk at Jackson who choked on his own spit at my gruesome words.

Before anyone could say anything else, footsteps sounded, somebody behind me crunching their way through the dried leaves. I turned, eyeing Derek who was now stood over his dying Uncle. I couldn't see the look on his face from where I was stood, but I didn't imagine it was particularly pleasant.

“Wait!” Scott shouted as Derek knelt down, preparing to finally finish what we'd started all those weeks ago. “You said the cure comes from the one who bit you. Derek, if you do this, I'm dead. Her father, her family, what am I supposed to do?!”

I rolled my eyes in sheer exasperation. The kid really did only have a one track mind – even after everything we'd done, everything we'd been through, it still all boiled back down to one single, human girl. I didn't understand love, and I doubted I ever would.

“You've...already...decided...” Peter choked with his dying breaths, a smugness to him that made me itch to kill him myself. “I can... _smell it on you_.”

Derek held his hand up, preparing to strike even as Scott protested desperately from behind him, clinging to his final hope.

But then it was done. Peter's heart was beating no more.

“I'm the alpha now.” Derek's eyes slowly faded from their glowing red and he turned around to pick up his uncle's body, dragging it behind him and disappearing into his skeleton of a house with it. I moved closer to Stiles, ready to tell him he should really head home, only to be cut off by a war cry. We all turned around to look for source of the sound, but not a moment later I found myself shoved against the thick trunk of a tree, a sharp stick imbedded in my gut.

I cried out in sheer pain, the sound sharp as agony seeped into my veins. The wood of the branch acted as a sort of poison to my system, burning where it scraped against my insides.

“Jules!” Stiles shouted, lunging forwards only to be shoved away by papa Argent, who held me to the tree trunk, a disgusted snarl on his face, deft fingers wrapped around his makeshift stake. I was struck with the knowledge that he had me at his mercy. One well-aimed stake and I was dead.

I kept my mask in place, forcing my face into an expression of faux confusion on the off chance I might still be able to convince him I was a wolf. “What-?” I began to ask, as though I didn't understand what was happening – like I didn't understand why I was being staked to a tree.

“Don't you _dare_ play dumb,” the hunter hissed at me, gripping the makeshift stake and twisting it ruthlessly. I bit down on my tongue to smother a whimper of pain. I could feel each splinter as it broke off from the branch, imbedding into my guts like tiny, deadly little daggers. “I saw your face. I know what you are, _leech_ ,” Argent spat with the utmost revulsion.

Giving up all pretence I finally dropped the act, my fangs sliding free and my eyes turning crimson as I snarled at him like the animal I was. The prick didn't so much as flinch, glaring at me with loathing, as though I'd ever done anything to him. That was the problem with hunters – it didn't matter who you were as a person, _what_ you were always came first. Unfortunately, it was the one aspect a person couldn't change about themselves.

And like they could talk? It wasn't like they were any better; killing people in cold blood just because they were different!

_Sanctimonious pricks_.

“Scott? Him, I can leave be,” Argent told me slowly and quietly, like I was some kind of idiot. “I can believe that _he_ hasn't taken human life. But don't for a _second_ pretend like you haven't!” He ruthlessly twisted the stick in my gut, and I groaned in agony, slamming my head back against the tree trunk in a weak attempt at a distraction.

“Jules!” Stiles shouted again, and the note of panic in his voice was unmistakable. He was scared for me. That was nice.

I heard a small tussle as Scott had to hold his best friend back, the human fighting to get to me as though he had any chance of taking down such a seasoned hunter. I might have found it sweet had I not been so worried about myself in that moment.

“Give me _one_ reason why I shouldn't shove this stake through your undead heart,” Argent snarled, goading me in that way overconfident hunters sometimes did.

I wanted to say something, anything to save my own life – but I just didn't have a good answer. And judging by his smug, victorious smirk, he knew it too.

“Dad, no!” Allison screamed from where she stood by Scott, too afraid to come any closer. She hovered on the edge, and I cast her a hooded glance, listening to the sound of her pulse racing under her skin. Being staked always left me starving. “Don't hurt her!” she begged her father, shrill and desperate.

My head began to pound, pain flowing and ebbing in a repetitive motion, creating an unbearable, thumping headache.

“You don't understand, Allison!” Argent shouted back without looking at her. He shoved me harder against the tree when I tried to inch forwards. The stake in my stomach pushed in deeper, coming dangerously close to poking out the other side. I groaned a little under the pain. “You don't know what she is,” he spat with the disgust of someone who had experienced the worst of my kind before.

“I know she's my friend!” Allison cried.

“It doesn't _matter_ , Allison-”

“She doesn't kill people!”

Argent froze, whatever he was beginning to say lost in an instant. He glanced over at Stiles, who'd been the one to cry out in my defence. Now Argent was angled away from me, and I couldn't see the expression on his face. On Stiles', however, I saw inexplicable desperation and terrified concern. I wriggled uncomfortably, coughing slightly as blood began to bubble up from my punctured intestines, climbing its way up my throat.

At Argent's pause, Stiles seemed to sense his opportunity and jumped at it, grasping on with both hands. “You must be monitoring the blood stock at the hospital right?” he asked, trying his best to sound confident. I grit my teeth against the searing pain in my gut where the wooden stick remained lodged like an ornament. “Even if you're not, look into it! You'll see a lot of it having mysteriously disappeared,” he argued valiantly. “She doesn't kill to feed!”

Argent was silent for a long time, his heart rate disconcertingly steady. “Is that true?” he finally asked me, twisting the stick again like it would make sure I was telling the truth. I groaned but nodded my head, even though it hurt to do so, making the world tilt on its axis. “Do you really expect me to believe you've never killed?” he asked scathingly.

“No,” I spat in a flare of self-righteousness. “Especially not since it's a lie.”

He pulled the stick from my stomach and for a brief, brief second I felt beautiful relief, but in a split second the illusion was shattered as it was shoved back in, a few inches to the right – directly through my kidney, if I wasn't mistaken. That was always a bitch to heal. I groaned again, feeling it shred my insides into confetti. Fury began to claw at me, very little between my hands and his death. The only thing stopping me at this point was my oath to Myra, and the eyes of my friends – my _only_ friends – as they watched my every move.

“Stop _doing that_ ,” I snarled at Argent, eyes flooding one more, making them shine crimson with blood. “Yes, I've killed before,” I admitted with as much patience as I could manage, which honestly wasn't much considering I had a branch lodged in my abdomen. “But I don't anymore! Nobody in this town is in danger from me. So, take that stake out of my kidney before I do something we'll both regret,” I finished, bloody eyes narrowed dangerously. It wasn't an empty threat, and by the tilt of his head, he knew it.

“So, you're going to threaten my life whilst you beg for your own?” he shot back, an unamused smirk playing at his mouth, his eyes cold and unflinching. The son of a bitch was _enjoying_ this.

That was crossing the fucking line.

“I'm _not_ begging,” I spat furiously, having had enough of taking the 'higher ground'. With no hesitation I reached down and curled my fingers around the stake, yanking it from my abdomen and throwing the bloodied wood off into the trees. Argent looked thrown, apparently not having expected me to fight back.

With a guttural growl I slammed my hands against the hunter's chest, sending him stumbling back away from me. I stepped away from the uncomfortable tree trunk, running my hands down my front calmly. Argent was quick, fishing out a spare gun from the waist of his pants and aiming it at me without hesitation.

I had just enough time to sigh before he was pulling the trigger twice, too bullets imbedding themselves in my chest. I flinched from the powerful impact, glancing down at myself in surprise. I couldn't feel the sting of wood, so he'd clearly come unprepared, bullets made of nothing but metal.

“Put down the weapons and maybe we could have a civil conversation,” I offered him a white flag, although my patience was dropping away more and more with the heartbeat in his chest.

He grimaced like I'd said something unsavoury and simply shot me again. I recoiled once more under the impact as two more bullets joined the others in my torso. Seeing I wasn't about to be taken down that way, he repositioned his aim and shot me in the kneecap.

I crumbled to the ground, hissing irately as I grabbed massive fistfuls of dirt in an effort to ground myself.

I could take him, I could have him dead in an instant if I wanted to – but killing wasn't an option, not anymore, not ever again.

Still, I didn't exactly take kindly to being shot.

With a glower I reached into my knee, pushing past the broken bone and painstakingly fishing out the bullet, cold blood spilling out over my nimble fingers.

I looked back up, my expression deadly. “That one stung,” I sneered unkindly, throwing the bloodstained bullet at him, watching as it hit him harmlessly in the forehead. He blinked at the impact and I used the distraction to climb to my feet. By the time his eyes were open again, I had his gun in my hands, the barrel aimed between his eyes. “How'd you like it if I shot _you_ , huh?” I asked with a dark, sadistic smile. “Something tells me you won't heal like I will.”

Allison whimpered from across the clearing, but didn't come any closer. Did she really believe I'd do it? The lack of confidence in me hurt more than any of the bullets had.

“I can't let you live,” Argent told me, meeting my eyes bravely. I had to admire him in a way; the man had some serious balls. Not many people could go toe to toe with a vampire without shitting themselves in fear. “And if you kill me, there'll just be someone else exactly like me to do the job,” he threatened, and although I hated it, I knew it to be true.

“Juliet,” Allison pleaded tearfully from her place beside Scott, who was still holding back a struggling Stiles. The sounds of their worry had faded into the background, and I glanced over at them curiously, noting the terrified concern on their faces. Was that for _me_? “Please don't hurt him. _Please,_ ” she begged me brokenly. She'd already lost her aunt, did I really want to be responsible for taking her father from her, too?

I considered it for one long, drawn-out moment.

When it came down to it, killing this hunter would be taking innocent human life, which was something I'd sworn not to do _ever again_. I wasn't much in the way of ethical, but I sure as hell kept my Goddamn word.

“Tell you what,” I spoke up so abruptly that I even shocked myself. I slackened the hold I had on the gun. It fell limp in my grip, dangerous end pointed at the ground, handle held up in some kind of fucked up peace offering. “You stay out of my way, I'll stay out of yours,” I offered with a playful gleam to my eyes.

“And why would I do that?” Argent asked, a grim look of hatred lining his face.

“Because I'm old,” I replied honestly, the simplicity of my statement hopefully making him reconsider. “And therefore _very_ difficult for you to kill.” I leaned forwards, and he noticeably recoiled. He wasn't afraid, something I admired, if anything he was just disgusted by me. “And if it somehow _does_ come out that my fangs have gone anywhere near a living, breathing, human being, then I'll put myself in chains and let you stake me yourself,” I vowed, and though wary, he still took the offered gun from my hand. “You have my word,” I added sincerely.

Argent scoffed like I'd made a bad joke. “That doesn't mean _anything_ coming from you,” he sneered. And it was a fair enough point. What weight did the word of a dead woman hold?

“Dad,” Allison called again, sensing the opportunity to intervene. “Dad, I will _never_ forgive you if you hurt her,” she promised him, and I watched as this oath pushed Argent over the line. “She's a good person,” Allison swore blindly. “I _know_ she is!”

Everything was dead quiet as he stared at me, I could see the clogs in his mind clicking over as he considered me and my strange offer of a ceasefire. “I'll spare you … for now,” he finally decided, never taking his eyes from me as he moved backwards towards his daughter, steps careful and measured. “But if you give a human so much as a _scratch..._ ” he warned me, voice and eyes like ice.

“Aye aye, captain,” I replied, forcing a lazy smirk onto my lips. He grimaced in disgust, hooking an arm around his daughter's neck and none-too-gently tugging her away from the Hale house, ignoring the way she muttered under her breath, pleading with him to let her stay with us.

There were things that needed to be said, but they could all wait until the light of another day.

Finally, Scott let go of Stiles, and the kid scrambled to my side, waving his hands uselessly in front of me, as though not sure what to do with them. Now that the hunter was out of sight I knew I could once again show weakness, and so I sagged where I stood, gripping Stiles' shoulder for support as pain flared across my middle from my tremendous range of injuries.

“Whoa,” Stiles huffed, tentatively wrapping an arm around my middle, careful not to brush the wounds. His skin was warm, and I held my breath so my fangs didn't go getting any ideas. “She needs to get home,” the human called to the only remaining members of team Anti-Alpha, Jackson and Scott. “Jackson, can we get a ride home?” he asked the other human expectantly.

The petty, but rather dull, boy looked like he desperately wanted to refuse, but even he wasn't _that_ much of a dick. He reluctantly nodded and Stiles slowly led me to the car. I pushed him away halfway there, insisting on walking myself. I felt him roll his eyes but didn't feel like commenting, sliding with Stiles into the backseat of Jackson's fancy Porsche. I rested my forehead against the cool window as he pulled away from the Hale house, watching the dark forest fly by without really seeing it.

Finally the alpha was gone, but I felt like with his passing came a whole host of new, and potentially _worse_ , problems.

Derek was the alpha now, and who knew what his agenda was? Jackson knew what we were, and wanted the same for himself. The hunters now knew I was a vampire, so I'd have to keep my wits about me if I wanted to continue living in the town.

I wondered if it was worth it. Why didn't I just take everyone's advice and move somewhere more vampire-friendly, somewhere further east, like Mystic Falls? At least I knew there were people like me out there, and less threat of werewolf attack.

But then I glanced to my right, catching sight of an exhausted looking Stiles. He felt my eyes on him and looked over, shooting me a tired but genuine smile, and suddenly I knew, in my heart, that I had my answer.


	15. Stars

_All those times we looked up at the sky_

_Looking out so far, it felt like we could fly_

_And now I'm all alone in the dark of night_

_And the moon is shining, but I can't see the light._

Stars – Grace Potter

* * *

“I don't wanna know.”

Stiles shot out of his seat, blinking his eyes open and searching wildly for the source of the voice. He found me where I sat on the seat beside him, one leg crossed over the other, face clear of emotion. I was thrown back to several weeks ago, when we'd sat in the exact same place, back before I'd considered him a real friend.

“What?” he asked me innocently, not-so-subtly wiping drool from his lip and straightening his shirt, the balloon tied to his wrist bobbing in the air near his face, bumping him in the nose.

“Please,” I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest and fixing him with an unimpressed stare. “I can smell your arousal.”

He grunted indignantly, nose crinkling in my direction. “No using your supernatural abilities to find ways to embarrass me,” he whined. “We've been over this, it isn't fair.” I smirked, unable to help myself, and Stiles huffed. “What are you even doing here anyway?” he asked in a grumble.

I lifted one shoulder, the soft green wool of my sweater sliding down off my shoulder. I nodded to the ground, where my duffel bag lay at my feet. It didn't take a genius to deduce what it was filled with. “Snack run,” I said impishly, one corner of my lips twitching up into a smirk as he grimaced, rolling his eyes in my direction.

Suddenly a loud grumble broke the calm of the nearly-empty waiting room, and we both looked at his stomach accusingly. “Looks like I could go for one of those right about now,” he said before frowning in disgust. “A snack run, not a blood bag.”

“Thank God you made that distinction, otherwise I would have been so confused,” I replied scathingly, and he snorted, patting his hungry stomach and frowning at the door to Lydia's room, clearly torn between searching for sustenance and being there for his long-time obsession. I huffed, unable to believe it had gotten to the point where I was actually considering being _helpful._ Rolling my eyes at myself, I dug in my pocket until I produced a handful of crumpled bills and loose change. “Will something from the vending machine tide you over?” I asked him.

Stiles' face brightened considerably, and he shot me a smile so brilliant it hurt to look directly at it, like staring into the sun. I slid to my feet. “Come on,” I told him, kicking the duffel full of blood under the seat after making sure it was properly zipped up. “You can pick something.”

He untied the balloon from his wrist, attaching it to the armrest of his chair before springing to his feet and following along after me. I moved through the halls, turning the corner and heading for the vending machines. I leant against the wall, watching with minimal interest as Stiles yawned loudly, staring at the options behind the glass in front of him.

“Why don't you go home?” I asked, annoyed by my own curiosity. “I mean, you being here isn't exactly helping her in any way, you haven't even seen her all weekend.”

He winced, continuing to stare through the glass at his options like they were the most interesting thing in the room. “I just needed to be here,” he said with a shrug. “I'm sure you'd do the same if it was someone you really cared about.”

I wasn't sure how to respond to that one. _Was_ there anyone I cared enough about to stay in an uncomfortable hospital chair and breathe in the sterile scent of disinfectant all day? No names immediately came to mind.

“Reese's,” he said finally, tapping on the glass, leaving a dirty fingerprint behind. I fed the correct money into the machine, gesturing for him to key in the coordinates for his desired treat. He did so with an eager smile, watching in anticipation as the spiral holding back the treat uncurled, before it suddenly stopped, the bar of candy getting stuck before it fell. Stiles' face fell and his shoulders slumped. “Seriously?” he mumbled exasperatedly, violently pressing the button as though it would fix the problem. He turned to me, shooting me a pointed look.

“What do you expect _me_ to do?” I asked. “Break the glass?” His expression picked up again, a spark lighting up his eyes. “I'm not breaking the glass,” I deadpanned, staring back, entirely unimpressed. He shot me an irritated look, succeeding only in making me roll my eyes. I didn't move, watching as he turned his attention back to the machine. He scowled, bracing himself and grasping either side of it, taking a deep breath and lifting.

Nothing happened except him making a loud, pained noise and the creaking of the metal machine. He huffed loudly, stepping back to assess the situation. He looked at me, eyes wide and pleading, “can't you just-” he waved his arm helplessly.

“But it's just so much more _fun_ to watch you struggle,” I hummed, tilting my head to the side and smirking at him teasingly.

“Evil,” he muttered bitterly, eyes back on the task at hand. I laughed, because if not helping him break into a vending machine was his biggest problem with me, maybe this whole 'friendship' thing was on the right track after all.

He surged forwards suddenly, grasping the top of the machine and violently shaking it. I cackled as it tipped forwards. Stiles scrambled out of the way, gasping when it fell to the ground, the sound of smashing glass echoing through the halls. Stiles stared at the scene with wide eyes, and I clapped him playfully on the back, giddy with amusement.

“You are one smooth dude, Stiles,” I told him with the toothy grin that Stiles' had once told me reminded him of the shark from Finding Nemo.

He shot me a look that was a blend between sour and sheepish, opening his mouth to comment when a loud, ear piercing scream rang through the hospital. “Lydia?” he gasped instead. Before he could so much as take a step in her direction, I was in Lydia's bathroom, staring at the empty shower and open window with a furrowed brow.

Two unfamiliar adults plus Stiles raced in to the room an eternity later. The adults gasped, beginning their pointless search of the room, then rushing out to alert the rest of the staff of the missing girl.

Before I could do anything, however, Stiles gripped my arm and pulled me aside.

“Where is she?” he demanded, a touch of desperation to his tone as the nurse began ordering for a search of the hospital. But what was there for me to say? I had no idea where she was, and I didn't have the first clue where the mentally damaged girl would wander off to, naked in the middle of the night. “Can you track her?” he tried when he seemed to understand that I wasn't going to reply with an answer he'd enjoy.

“Maybe,” I allowed, narrowing my eyes at the window, my cat-like vision slicing through the darkness, searching for any hint of the girl, some tracks she may have left behind. “You should call Scott though,” I admitted reluctantly, keeping my voice low so nobody else could overhear. “He's got a stronger sense of smell. Derek would be helpful too.”

Stiles scowled at the mention of Derek's name. “I'll call Scott,” he said, ignoring my other suggestion.

“Okay,” I agreed. “Oh, could you make sure you take my duffel-bag back to yours? I'll come collect it later.” He nodded his head. “And tell Scott I'll meet him in the woods,” I added, spinning around and moving to the open window.

I threw one leg over the windowsill, sitting uncomfortably on the cool metal. I glanced back at Stiles, taken aback by the devastated look on his face. I felt like I should say something, but I never was any good at the whole 'comfort' thing. Where did I even begin?

“Stiles,” I said before I'd made any conscious decision to speak, frowning when his attention snapped to me. Now I guess I _had_ to say something. “It's going to be okay,” I told him gently. I didn't really believe my own words, but he looked grateful for my attempt nonetheless, giving me a sad twitch of his lips, turning around and moving from the room.

I sighed, staring out into the night for a long moment before shaking my head, forcing myself to get my head back in the right space, and then launching myself from the room, following what little tracks the dazed girl had left behind.

I slipped through the trees, my shoes barely making an imprint on the soft earth. I paused by an old stump of what I'm sure was once a beautiful oak, sniffing the air. I took a sharp turn left, following at top speeds. As I ran, I began to frown. These forests were beginning to look familiar.

After a moment I knew why as I pulled to a stop at the mouth of a clearing, the rickety old burnt down remains of the Hale house looming above me in the darkness.

“Lydia?” I called tentatively, tilting my head to the side as I listened for any hint that there was a human (now, potentially a werewolf) in the darkness. There was nothing, not even a heartbeat. I walked around the entire house twice, searching for where the tracks led, but they ended at the house. There was nothing to go on.

With a heavy sigh, I slipped through the broken front door and eyed the charred walls, taking in the dangerously splintered stairs.

I remained perfectly still, waiting for any sign of life. Bar a squirrel in the tree outside and a family of rats out the back, the house was utterly empty.

I heard footsteps crunch on the ground outside and moved over towards the door. “She came here?” Stiles voice was asking loudly as he, Scott and Allison approached. “Are you sure?”

“This is where the scent leads,” Scott responded with a shrug. I slid out from the depths of the house, appearing on the blackened porch.

“Took you long enough,” I said loudly, leaning my weight against the railing, grimacing when it creaked. Allison looked surprised to see me there, so the boys obviously hadn't filled her in. I lifted a hand, wiggling my fingers at her in greeting. I heard her heartbeat pick up before she took a deep, calming breath, her heart rate slowing.

So I scared her now – interesting.

“Alright, now that we're all present,” Stiles said sharply, and I got the feeling he didn't want to be wasting any time with pleasantries, “does anyone know if Lydia has ever been here before?”

“Not with me,” Allison said, shaking her head, pulling her coat tighter around her as Scott shook his head in the negative.

Stiles moved forwards, heading closer to me as Scott and his girlfriend hung back to whisper between themselves. “So this is where the trail ends?” he asked quietly, knowing I could hear him. I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets and moved down the unstable porch stairs, my boots crunching the leaves fallen from the trees. I headed towards him, nodding once I was close enough to him that he could see it. “And she's definitely not in the house?”

“Nope,” I told him, coming to a stop beside him.

“Do you think she's turning?” he asked tentatively, awkwardly balling his fists and shoving them into his own pockets, mirroring my stance.

“I think you either turn or you die,” I said, my voice steely. “And she isn't dead yet.”

“So there's no other outcome?” he questioned, desperate for an answer I wasn't sure I could give. “There's no other way this could turn out?” he asked hopefully.

I opened my mouth to say no, but something flitted across my mind. Years and years back, over a century ago, even, I'd come across someone who hadn't turned after being bitten; someone who hadn't died either. But that couldn't be what was happening here, because that person had been a––

“Hey, look at this,” he exclaimed suddenly, kneeling down to the muddy ground as he caught sight of a long, thin wire spread across two trees. “I think it's a trip wire,” he said, suddenly completely distracted from our previous conversation. He had such a human attention span – it was weirdly adorable.

Stiles touched the wire gently, considering it for a moment before yanking it sharply upwards. There was a yelp behind me and I spun around only to chortle at the sight of Scott strung upside down from a rope, its end hidden up in the tree.

“Stiles?” he said cooly as I chuckled to myself.

“Yeah buddy?” his best friend asked, turning around, stopping short at the sight that he was met with.  
  


“Next time you see a trip wire, don't trip it,” Scott told him sternly, swinging softly from side to side. Allison giggled, covering her mouth with her gloved hand, watching her boyfriend swing with fond amusement.

“Noted,” Stiles murmured, smirking sheepishly.

They both smiled, and it was only a brief, peaceful moment before the loud crunch of dried leaves met my sensitive ears. “Wait,” I hissed, stepping closer to Scott. The other two could get away, Scott was stuck there for now, unable to defend himself. I figured that was the priority. “Someone's coming,” I told them quickly.

“Hide,” Scott urged the two humans quietly, waving them away. “ _Go_ ,” he ordered when they didn't move.

Allison scrambled away, moving off into the shadows. Stiles made a grab at my wrist, trying to pull me with him. “Stiles,” I snapped, dropping his hand and giving him a gentle shove in the direction Allison had gone. He shot me a reluctant look but eventually did as he was told. I positioned myself in front of a vulnerable Scott, facing the approaching hunters.

They moved from the darkness, boots squeaking lightly, which was about as stealthy as humans got. Argent walked forwards, cool stare on his handsome face as he regarded me carefully before turning his attention to Scott.

“Scott,” he said cordially, not even bothering to greet me. I wasn't surprised; to hunters, vampires were even lower on the supernatural totem pole than werewolves.

“Mr Argent,” Scott responded with an awkward, upside-down nod.

“How are you going?”

“Good, just...” he trailed off, glancing at where the rope held him by the ankle. “Is this one of yours? It's, ah, it's a good design. Very … constricting.”

I rolled my eyes, resisting the urge to face palm at the smalltalk. Argent didn't look impressed. “What are you doing out here Scott?” he asked bluntly.

“We're looking for Lydia,” I supplied, and he looked at me sharply, hate overflowing in his expression. If he could get away with it, he'd kill me right here and tear me up into a million little pieces, smiling the whole fucking time.

“That's right,” he said, glancing at the forest floor contemplatively before looking back at Scott, apparently deciding I wasn't worth speaking to. “Lydia's in your group now, isn't she?” He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at the wolf. “Clique, is that the word you use? Or is there another way to put it … part of your _pack_?” Argent's frown deepened and he turned to look at me, a disgusted glare on his face, like I was something he'd found on the bottom of his shoe. “Or maybe the right word is... _coven,_ ” he sneered.

I snorted loudly, something he definitely didn't appreciate. “Vampire jokes,” I chirped with a smirk, wagging my eyebrows at him. “Classy.”

“Actually, clique sounds about right to me,” Scott said in a valiant attempt to defuse the tension.

“I hope so. Because I know Juliet's a friend of Allison's, and one or two special circumstances like yourselves? That I can handle,” he told us, face stony and voice grave. “But not another.” He looked up at me, probably imagining exactly how it would feel to thrust a stake through my heart and watch the life leave my eyes. “Scott, do you know what a hemicorporectomy is?” he asked conversationally, apparently changing tactics. I shifted slightly in front of Scott, an action the hunter didn't miss.

“I have a feeling I don't want to,” the teen wolf muttered from where he hung.

“It's the medical term for amputating somebody at the waist. Cutting them in half. It takes a tremendous amount of strength to cut through tissue and bone and fat,” he paused, eyes narrowing into slits. “Let's hope a demonstration never becomes necessary.”

He stood to his feet, attention slipping from the wolf to me.

“I'd make a threat, but I think you already get the gist of what I'm going to say,” he said, tilting his head, examining me closely.

“Let me guess,” I began, crossing my arms over my chest and smirking at him carelessly. “It involves some creative combination of pointy wooden sticks, decapitation, and fire.” He stared at me, his hard expression not breaking for even a second. “I've been at this a lot longer than you, little boy,” I warned him, starting off light, but soon trailing off into a darker, more dangerous tone.

“Well, so long as you keep your fangs out of people's necks, I don't see us having any problems in the future, Juliet.”

I stepped closer to him, and the men behind him shifted, their hands darting to their waists where I didn't doubt their weapons were concealed. “Don't think you are in any way protected just because you're Allison's father,” I told him quietly, making sure that Allison (who I had no doubt was doing her best to listen in) wouldn't overhear.

“Keep making threats like that and you might just wake up dead,” he said, voice just as dark.

I chortled, an amused smirk spreading across my lips, “I'm _already_ dead, so how about you go ahead and do your worst?” He grimaced like he was disgusted I had reminded him. A hand grabbed mine and tugged, I knew without looking it was Scott, warning me to play this smart. “It was nice chatting with you Chris,” I said pleasantly, fluttering my lashes and turning my lips up at the corners.

Argent didn't rise to my bait, merely glaring at me with loathing for a long moment before turning around, and leisurely making his way back into the shadows, his minions following close at his heels. Everything was still for a beat after they got out of hearing range, and then the sound of hurried footsteps made their way to where we stood. “Are you guys okay?” Allison asked us worriedly, making a beeline for Scott, whose face was beginning to turn purple.

“Just another life threatening conversation with your dad,” he answered, aiming for funny but falling short.

“Stiles, help me with this,” she said, jogging over to where the rope was pulled taught by his weight.

“Thanks,” Scott said, cutting the wire with his claw, landing on solid ground not a moment later. “But I think I got it.”

“Come on,” Stiles said with a weak laugh. “Another sweep of the house won't hurt.”

We all nodded, following him up the small hill that the Hale house sat on, all of us knowing that it was pointless – Lydia wasn't there.

* * *

I smirked in vague amusement as Stiles got himself in trouble with Harris, chuckling under my breath as I discretely carved a pentagram into the wood of the desk I was sitting at.

“Jackson,” a voice behind me said, and I looked up as I heard the boy's heart rate skyrocket. What I saw floored me. Black was dripping from his nose, but I knew from experience that it wasn't blood. I pulled my phone from my pocket, unlocking it under the desk after only a brief moment of struggle. I typed out a quick, concise text to everyone's favourite alpha, whose phone number I reluctantly held onto, even after the whole debacle with Peter was long since over.

Jackson disappeared out into the hall, escaping to the bathroom. I kept my sensitive ears tuned to him, and it wasn't long after I'd sent my text that I heard Derek in the bathroom with the boy. I had to ignore Stiles' urgent whispers, wondering what the hell was going on. I wasn't going to act as a supernatural carrier pigeon. I was better than that.

I remained behind after school, reading in the library for a lack of anything better to do. The thought of returning to my empty, lifeless home was starting to become increasingly harrowing. The school wasn't much of a step up, but at least it didn't make me feel like the walls were caving in on me.

I was just on my way through to the front doors, finally tiring of the stench of ink and human sweat, when I heard Stiles arguing with Harris about leaving detention on time. I weighed my options, ultimately deciding that getting Stiles out of detention was something a friend would do – and something he'd begged me to do on multiple occasions.

With a silent sigh I gripped the handle of the classroom door and twisted it open, sliding effortlessly into the room.

“Ms Cooper,” Harris greeted me coldly, like I were something he'd found at the bottom of a drain. “How can I help you?” he asked in the kind of tone that told me he wasn't intended to be help of any sort, regardless of what I said I needed.

From where he sat in the middle of the room, Stiles perked up at the sight of me, practically screaming at me with his eyes to get him the hell out of there. I withheld another sigh, beginning to wonder exactly what the hell I was doing.

“Stiles is leaving now,” I said simply, my expression schooled. Harris paused, his pen hovering in the air over the essay he was grading as he turned to look at me, one sharp brow raised.

“Excuse me?” he asked, toeing the line between shock and amusement.

“I said,” I began slowly, placing one hand on his desk, the other on the back of his chair so I could lean in, catching his cold, beady little eyes with my own, “Stiles is leaving now.” There was a beat as I held his gaze, before I blinked and broke the hold I had over him. “Come on,” I said to Stiles, pushing myself back up into a standing position and looking at the boy who grinned back at me, downright giddy. He all but leapt from his seat, bouncing to his feet and scurrying over to me.

“You're literally a life saver,” he said as I led him from the room, Harris left behind like the afterthought he was. “Which is ironic, considering you're a vamp––”

“Yeah, I see the irony,” I cut him off, rolling my eyes and turning down a hallway to the right, heading for the front doors of the labyrinthine school.

“Are you going to Kate's funeral?” Stiles asked me conversationally. I pushed open the heavy doors, stepping out into the muted light of the overcast day and making a beeline for the pavement. I was intent on getting home, having a feed and watching whatever drivel was on TV that night. The lure of the house itself wasn't particularly tempting, but the promise of a microwaved packet of blood was certainly convincing enough.

“Re-assess that question, Stilinski,” I said in answer to Stiles' ridiculous query. He was walking with me, striding by my side with a casual ease, as if he'd been along when he most certainly hadn't. “Why the hell would I go to that bitch's funeral?” I asked him scornfully. “Back in my day, one didn't attend the funeral of somebody they actively wanted dead. Or has the custom changed over time?” I asked snidely.

Stiles was quiet for a moment, contemplating my words with something of a smile on his face – as if I'd said something funny.

“It's just that, well, Scott and I will be there – for Allison,” he told me quietly. “I thought you might want to be there too.”

“Nope,” I responded, utterly guiltless as I tugged my coat closer around me. The gesture was born from habit, rather than a need for warmth. Humans tended to feel more comfortable when I acted restless. Natural vampiric stillness always seemed to put them at unease.

“Well, it's at the cemetery. Y'know, if you change your mind,” Stiles told me, and when I glanced over at him I was surprised to find something like hope in his expressive, human eyes.

I didn't like it. It held the promise of complication, so I turned back to face my path, expression stony and hard.

“That's typically where funerals are held, yes,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. Stiles chuckled lightly, but the sound was forced.

We arrived beside his Jeep, and I came to a stop. Stiles paused at the driver's side door, fiddling restlessly with his keys.

“Want a ride home? It's on my way,” he offered kindly.

“No, thank you,” I said evenly. “I was actually going to take a detour through the woods; see if I can catch Lydia's scent, or find some tracks...” Stiles smiled, but this time it wasn't with amusement or sarcasm. Instead it held something much more dangerous – fondness. It rattled me. “What?” I asked self-consciously.

“You just – you like to put on this act that you don't care,” he explained with that stupid smile, and before he'd even finished the sentence I'd tensed up like I were expecting a blow. “But you care a lot, don't you? Underneath all that punk-rock getup and nasty attitude,” he grinned like an idiot.

I pursed my lips in annoyance, fixing him with a sharp look that didn't seem to work, for he didn't look discouraged at all. “Thanks for the insight,” I replied, utterly sarcastic. “Are we done?”

“We're done,” he confirmed, that unsettling grin of his refusing to fade. I opened my mouth to say something, but he beat me to the punch. “Call you if we need anything?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

I blinked in surprise. “What?”

“That's what you usually say,” he replied, grinning back toothily. “'Call if you need anything',” he said again, voice light. “That's how you say goodbye.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, not interested in the affectionate tone he spoke with. “I'm leaving now,” I told him flatly, shooting him my most unimpressed stare. Again, it did nothing to dampen his spirits.

“Talk to you later,” he sang, unlocking his Jeep and climbing into the driver's seat.

I turned into the line of trees that marked the beginning of the woods, and maybe it was out of pettiness, but I didn't turn around to look as Stiles drove away.

I'd come here to make connections, to make friends and build something resembling a normal life – but now that I was presented with the reality of it all... Well, it was all a little frightening up close.

I knew I needed a run to help myself work through my internal distress, and with a low, almost-silent growl, I took off into the trees, letting the feel of the wind on my face help me forget the happy gleam in Stiles' stunning, whiskey coloured eyes.

* * *

I never did find any trace of Lydia's trail, but to be fair, I didn't look particularly hard. After only an hour I went home and put on my favourite jazz record, letting it play through my house, helping it seem just that little bit less barren. Then I began to clean, methodically sweeping and mopping my floors.

It was boring work, but a welcome distraction from my thoughts.

My phone rang at an odd hour. Most humans were asleep by this time of night, but it made sense when I looked down at the caller ID. Who else would it have been?

“Yes?” I answered the call dryly.

“Route 5 and post,” said the familiar voice on the other end. I sighed. I'd been at this for long enough to know when not to ask questions, particularly when Stiles was involved. “You know where it is?”

“I do,” I confirmed. From the rush in his voice, I could tell it was urgent. “I can be there in five,” I added quickly.

Stiles muttered an agreement, and I ended the call. Abandoning my cleaning, I changed into an old college sweater, pulling it on over my tank top and slipping my feet into a pair of boots. It didn't take long to run there, especially since I'd had my fill of A-positive only an hour before.

I came to a stop at the edge of the forest, staring at the ambulance interior covered in human blood where it sat on the edge of the deserted road. I knew then that this was the boys' most recent lead on Lydia, but something about the whole thing didn't quite add up – not to mention I couldn't catch a hint of her scent anywhere on the vehicle.

I didn't have to wait long for Scott and Stiles to show up, hearing them stomping their way through the forest floor just to the left of the ambulance. It was so loud and clumsy, I nearly gave myself a headache from rolling my eyes so hard.

“What the hell is Lydia doing?” Stiles whispered to Scott. I could hear his disgust as I silently approached them both from behind, my footsteps silent in comparison to theirs.

“I have no idea,” Scott replied, glancing at me over his shoulder, the only one of the pair able to sense my approach.

“Took you boys long enough,” I said offhandedly for the second time in two days, crossing my arms and leaning against a tree beside me.

Stiles just about jumped out of his skin, yelping loudly and spinning around, hand pressed to his racing heart. “Well, not all of us can run at the speed of light,” he replied scathingly once he'd regained control of his vocal cords.

Again, I was helpless to do anything but roll my eyes. “I don't run at the speed of––”

“Could we please focus on the task at hand?” Scott interjected, voice layered with exasperation. He succeeded in moving our attention back to the conversation.

“Right,” Stiles said, nodding to himself and looking back towards the bloodied vehicle. “So, what kept _you_ from doing that? Was it Allison?” he asked, squinting at the body laying lifeless in the back.

“I hope so.”

“Do you need get closer?”

“No, I got it,” Scott told him after a beat, shifting back to try and catch the scent.

The wind picked up, and I held my breath against the aroma of freshly spilled human blood that slapped me in the face, taunting me with its proximity. I grit my teeth against the wave of hunger that gripped me, turning my face away as though it might help.

“Just...” Stiles began, grabbing his best friend's arm, stopping Scott from moving any further away. “I just need you to find her,” he said seriously, focus on the wolf as I watched on with only a vague, passing interest. “All right? Please just, just find her,” he muttered desperately.

“I will,” Scott vowed. He slid to his feet, turning to look at me, awaiting my input.

“The scent leads west,” I told him what I was sure he already knew. “It doesn't smell right though,” I added with a troubled frown.

“I know,” Scott agreed with a matching frown.

“Be careful,” I warned him quietly.

“Wait, you're not coming?”

“The natural instinct of a werewolf is to run _away_ from a vampire. The last thing we want is her getting spooked. I'll just wait here with the human, in case she comes back,” I told him. Stiles squawked from beside us, not taking too kindly to the use of his species rather than his name. I bit back a satisfied grin.

“Right,” Scott nodded, seeing the sense in my argument. He looked back to Stiles, patting his shoulder reassuringly and then taking a sharp left and disappearing back into the shadows.

“Did you get a look at what she did to the body?” Stiles asked me after a moment. “Maybe it'll help us figure out what's wrong with her.”

“No. I didn't think it was important,” I told him flippantly. Stiles shot me the most exasperated look I'd ever received, and huffed in irritation. “Fine,” I grumbled, relenting.

I reached out and grabbed his hand, using it to pull him along. A tense croak left his lips, but I ignored it, dragging him through the trees towards the flashing lights of the ambulance.

“Keep a lookout,” I ordered him, letting go of his hand once we stopped beside the cracked, broken doors of the ambulance. I glanced around the side of the vehicle where three officers and two paramedics stood talking in low tones, just a few dozen feet away. Thankfully none of them were paying the back of the ambulance any attention, giving us a few moments to investigate.

I pulled myself up into the back of the ambulance, and the smell of the blood hit me like a truck once again, this time made worse by its proximity. I grit my teeth again to deny the urge to let my fangs slide free. Stepping closer to the pale body laying still on the gurney, I picked up the sheet covering the wounds and slid it across so I could see everything clearly.

It wasn't enough to turn a stomach has old and as bloodthirsty as mine, but in terms of gruesomeness, it was truly a sight to behold.

“Quickly,” Stiles hissed from behind me. “What?” he asked when I didn't immediately respond, sounding closer than before. “What is it?”

“Don't look, Stiles,” I ordered him quickly, my experienced eyes taking in the ripped flesh and exposed insides. I refused to take another breath, doing my best to ignore the blood pooling in the hole in the body like little wells of the sweetest drink known to earth.

“Why not?” Stiles whined, his pout audible in his voice.

“So you might ever get another hour of sleep in your life,” I told him sombrely, assessing the evidence of the attack one final time before letting the sheet drop, covering the gruesome mess from sight.

I dropped back onto the dirt road, taking a deep breath of clean air through my mouth, trying to ignore the way I could still taste the stench of the blood on my tongue.

“So, what'd it tell you?” Stiles asked me eagerly, keeping his voice low so as to not attract the attention of the nearby officers.

I peered back at him grimly. “Whoever did this was desperate, and not at all experienced,” I told him quietly.

“So it _was_ Lydia?”

“Well-” I was cut off by a pair of high beam headlights shining in our faces, the sound of an engine cutting off, a door opening, and footsteps on the gravel making their way towards us. Dread spread across Stiles' face before the Sheriff was even by our side, but he quickly schooled his features, trying his best to appear nonchalant.

“Dad,” he said brightly, patting his father on the shoulder. “What a coincidence; seeing you here.”

“Stiles,” he replied carefully, stern glare sliding from him to me. Clearly he was less than impressed to see us there. I could empathise – I was less than impressed to _be_ there. “Juliet,” he greeted me steadily.

“Good evening, Sheriff,” I greeted him with a slow, respectful dip of my head.

The Sheriff was scowling deeply. “Do I want to know what the hell either of you are doing here?” he asked us, his tone of voice telling us that we had better have a good explanation, or so help us God.

I glanced expectantly to Stiles, who peered back at me, desperation painted clear as day across his face. I widened my eyes and shrugged my shoulders minutely, conveying that I had no idea what the hell he was supposed to say. Besides, he was the one who'd asked me to come. He could dig himself out of a mess, for once.

“We were making out,” Stiles blurted suddenly, like somebody had held a gun to his head and demanded he vomit out the most ridiculous, unbelievable excuse known to mankind.

I just barely refrained from groaning aloud in my frustration.

“Yeah,” he nodded to himself, gaining confidence in his lie, and sticking with it. “Yeah – Jules and I, we were making out in the woods and then we heard the sirens and we––”

“Stiles, stop,” his dad deadpanned, levelling the boy with a look that was utterly exasperated. “You don't actually expect me to believe you were doing _that_ with _her_ , do you?” he asked dryly.

Stiles suddenly looked offended. “I could,” he cried defensively, indignant. My lips pursed, wondering if the Sheriff's words had been a dig at his son, or at me.

In the end, Stiles' dad seemed to be too tired to bother even pretending to be interested in lame, half-formed excuses. “Look, Stiles, the fact of the matter is that you've shown up at a crime scene _again._ Think about how that looks,” he told his son seriously.

I edged away from the small family, crossing my arms as though I was cold and looking off into the trees with a small degree of awkwardness. They spoke in hushed tones, the Sheriff saying something about being elected to his job and not wanting his son to jeopardise that. It was something I could respect.

The wind picked up again, hitting me in the face and bringing with it the potent, sour stench I'd come to associate with my least favourite redhead in Beacon Hills.

I spun around, narrowing my eyes as I peered through the shadows with skill I alone held. Quickly catching sight of the figure in the bushes, I stepped towards the shivering Lydia as she halfheartedly covered her exposed chest.

“Gentlemen?” I said, loud enough to catch the Sheriff and his son's attention.

The muttering behind me abruptly died, and Stiles' pulse went off the charts as he spotted his long-time obsession now standing naked in the glow of the headlights. His chin practically dropped to the ground, and his entire body seemed to freeze. He didn't know how to react.

“Well?” Lydia asked loudly, throwing her arms up in something like annoyance, only serving to further expose her body to the gathered crowd of officers and town officials. “Isn't anybody going to get me a coat?” she demanded, voice shrill from the trauma of the night.

I glanced over my shoulder as Stiles tripped over himself in his eagerness to help Lydia cover up. The Sheriff rolled his eyes, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to me, gesturing for me to approach the scared, naked human girl. I couldn't be bothered arguing, something telling me that, by human standards, it would be insensitive to do so.

She was a traumatised, naked girl surrounded by grown men; even I knew I was supposed to be sympathetic.

I took the jacket, walking at a human pace towards the girl so as not to frighten her. I stopped in front of her, blocking the view of the men behind me.

“Are you okay?” I asked her quietly, more of a formality than anything. She was shaking like a leaf, tears in her eyes as she responded with a vague shake of her head. I held out the coat for her, and she slipped her trembling arms into the sleeves, letting me pull it up over her shoulders. She stepped back and attempted to zip it up, but found she couldn't make her trembling fingers cooperate.

I held back an irritated sigh, stepping closer and hooking the zip into place for her, dragging it up so it covered her chest. She sagged, weary from the two nights spent out in the woods. Sensing she needed the extra support, I grabbed her arm gently, thankful she couldn't feel the temperature of my skin through the material of the Sheriff's jacket.

The paramedics from the attacked ambulance were there to help, pulling out their equipment and setting to work checking her vitals.

I let her go, moving back beside Stiles, who was still staring at the girl. However, blatant shock was replaced by a deep, genuine concern, and I found myself wondering what it might be like to be looked at with such warmth.

“Is she...” he began, stopping before he could finish. He swallowed thickly, the sound loud to my sensitive ears. “I mean, does she smell like...?” he trailed off, struggling to finish the sentence.

“I don't think she turned,” I admitted, getting the gist of what he was trying to say. “She smells the same as she did before, and I can't sense the wolf in her, like I can the others.”

“But you either turn, or you die,” he replied in a hushed whisper. He finally looked away from Lydia to peer at me with pure perplexity. “How could she not have done either?”

“I don't know,” I answered him honestly, a frown sitting deep and weighty on my lips. “But I sure as hell intend to find out.”


	16. Last Hope

_It's just a spark_

_But it's enough to keep me going_

_And when it's dark out, no one's around_

_It keeps glowing_

Last Hope – Paramore

* * *

“I need the english homework.”

I looked up from my old paperback, raising an apathetic eyebrow at a hopeful, smiling Allison. “Then you probably should have done it,” I said bluntly, turning back to the words on the page, although I had to admit they were less interesting now than they had been a moment ago.

“Come on,” Allison sang, slipping down so she was sitting beside me, her back pressed up against the wall of lockers. “Help a girl out,” she fluttered her eyelashes innocently.

“I'd love to,” I said, utterly sarcastic. “But I didn't do the homework either.”

“How could you _not_ have done the homework?”

“Said the pot to the kettle...”

Allison giggled, rolling her eyes and bumping my shoulder like it hadn't been a scathing remark, but rather some kind of skewed compliment. “I was thinking,” she said quietly, looking down at her nails absentmindedly. “I should come over to your house on Friday night.”

I blinked at her, utterly perplexed by the suggestion. “I don't even know where to begin with what a terrible idea that is,” I told her in my most biting deadpan that she, once again, took absolutely no notice of.

“What do you mean?” she asked innocently, fluttering her eyelashes like some kind of over exaggerated cartoon character.

“Should I start with the fact you want to have a slumber party with a vampire, or the fact that your parents are hunters and would try and kill both of us if they found out you'd come within even ten feet of me?” I asked scornfully. Allison only rolled her eyes like I were being the dramatic one.

“I have it all planned out,” she said, turning so she was facing me directly, waving her hands enthusiastically as she talked. “I'll tell them I'm going over to Lydia's for the night, that I need a night of normal away from all the...” she trailed off, having difficulty coming up with the right phrasing. In the end she couldn't find the right word, and I didn't blame her. Saying 'supernatural madness' out loud, in public, wasn't something any normal person ever went around doing. “They won't suspect a thing,” she finished proudly.

But I wasn't impressed. “I've been around a while,” I reminded her flatly. “I might not think much of hunters – or even other people in general – but even _I_ know not to underestimate them.”

“Come on,” she said again as she nudged me, a look of hope on her face that made me feel like I didn't actually have a choice.

“Why do you want to come to my house in the first place?” I asked her, painfully aware I was just stalling for time.

Allison paused, staring back at me like I was some kind of idiot. “Because we're friends and that's what friends do,” she said, as if it really were that simple. In my experience, things rarely were.

The fact that we were such good friends was news to me, but I didn't argue. “Do I have a choice?” I asked, aware that I was wincing as if in pain.

But she grinned, so apparently I'd said the right thing. “Nope,” she beamed, glancing at the ceiling just as the bell rang throughout the halls of this hell known as high school. “I've got to get to history,” she told me apologetically, gathering her things and scrambling to her feet. “I'll see you later?”

“You'll see me Friday, apparently,” I retorted. Her only response was to smile happily. She walked by me, patting my head as she did. I didn't appreciate the gesture, it made me feel like a dog or an incompetent toddler, but I kept my complaints to myself, watching as she walked away, a hop in her step.

Shaking my head, I looked back down at my book. I was thankful the halls were beginning to empty, leaving me blissfully alone in the corridor. I'd only gotten halfway down the page when yet another familiar voice called out my name.

I peered up at Stiles through narrowed, unhappy eyes. “What do you want?” I asked moodily, but as per usual, my tone didn't seem to affect him in the least.

“We have a _serious_ problem,” he blurted, coming to a clumsy stop in front of me, twisting his hands together in front of him. Frowning, I listened to his heart pound, slipping the bookmark back into place and pushing myself up so I stood opposite him, leaving my bag at my feet.

“What?” I asked reluctantly, already wishing the day was over so I could curl up in front of the fire and drink some hard liquor. Was that too much to ask? Hadn't I lived long enough to have earned the right to some peace?

“There's another beta,” he said, eyes flashing around the hallway like he was paranoid somebody was going to leap out of a locker and catch us in the act of discussing the supernatural.

“Another beta?” I repeated slowly. “In town?”

“In school,” he corrected with a loud, human gulp.

I it down on my tongue, lips pursing as I digested the information. If he was correct, then thing weren't about to get any easier for me. Fuck karma, right? Apparently all the deaths I'd caused in my unnaturally long life were beginning to add up. It didn't matter that I was doing my best to atone for them now. The damage was already done.

“Do you know who it is?” I asked Stiles, my voice a growl.

“Yeah,” he nodded, giving the hall another suspicious scan. “It's Isaac Lahey,” he whispered around a wince.

I was perfectly silent, staring back at him, trying to gauge whether he was being serious. “Isaac Lahey,” I repeated tonelessly, staring at him, half expecting him to burst out into uncontrollable laughter. He did no such thing. “As in, my _formal_ date, Isaac Lahey?” I demanded incredulously. Was I the supernatural equivalent of King fucking Midas now? Everything I touched turned into a creature of night?

Stiles nodded affirmatively, licking his lips as he watched my reaction. I ran a hand through my hair, pushing it off my face.

If Isaac truly was a wolf now, this could only mean that Derek was forming a pack of his own. I don't know why I hadn't seen this coming. It was, after all, the next logical step for the shiny new alpha to make. Become an alpha, make a pack. It was the circle of life.

“That's not all,” Stiles continued, barreling ahead as if worried I might derail him with my ire. I wasn't sure how much more bad news I could take, and dread wormed its way into my gut. I scowled, gritting my teeth as I prepared for one more blow. “His dad was murdered and the police think _he's_ a suspect,” Stiles said, swallowing thickly. “They've got him in a holding cell for the night.”

The significance of that fact wasn't lost on me. “But tonight's the-”

“Full moon, I know.”

“So we're either risking human death or exposure, or both, if we're particularly unlucky,” I muttered pessimistically. “What are we going to do?” I asked, meeting Stiles' eyes.

“Scott's working on it.”

I shot him my most dead eyes. “Oh, I'm filled with confidence,” I drawled with the utmost sarcasm.

Stiles seemed to take great offence to my words. “Hey, who killed the alpha?” he asked dryly.

“Derek,” I deadpanned, and his argument abruptly lost momentum.

“Well, yeah,” he muttered. “But if it wasn't for Scott...”

“I get it,” I interjected, surprisingly not in the mood to watch him squirm. “Look, if Scott insists on taking point on this one, then I'm not going to argue,” I told him.

He blinked in surprise. “Really?”

I rolled my eyes, unconcerned by his reaction. “Just keep me in the loop,” I ordered. “If you need my particular expertise...” I added in offer.

“Right, yeah, I'll let him know,” said Stiles, a little thrown by my mild response. He crossed his arms to keep his fingers from tapping, and I got the feeling he'd taken a shitload of focus meds this morning in an effort to keep his head straight. “Look, I've gotta get to geography,” he told me. “I'll call you when I know more.”

With a final nod he spun around, hurrying down the hall to get to the class he was already late for. I rolled my eyes, feeling the vampire equivalent of a headache coming on.

* * *

“ _Juliet Cooper to the Principal’s Office_!”

I groaned aloud, rolling my head back until it hit the wall of the toilet cubicle I was holed up in. Taking another drag from my cigarette, I picked up my bag and threw open the door with one hand, smoke held precariously in the other.

I wasn't sure what the principal wanted with me, but I guessed it wasn't going to be all sunshine and rainbows.

Just as I was finishing off the last of my cigarette a girl stormed into the bathroom with the clacking of towering heels. Her dark look intensified as she spotted me with a smoke in hand. “What do you think you're doing?” she snapped, perfectly painted lips pulling downwards in disapproval. “You can't do that in here. I'll report you,” she threatened.

I didn't recognise her, but I didn't recognise a lot of people, so she wasn't exactly special.

“Don't bother,” I exhaled a lungful of smoke, glancing down at myself in the mirror. “I'm already on my way to the Principal now.”

I stalked out of the restroom before she could comment, dropping the smoke and stepping on it as I passed. I was lead inside the principal's office by the secretary as soon as I was within sight, the whole time wondering what I'd done to warrant such an immediate response.

I stepped inside the dull little office, looking around in disdain. I missed the 70's, because as misguided as the times may have been, at least back then people _tried_.

“Yes?” I asked, contemplating my chances of leaving in under two minutes and skipping the rest of class to smoke and watch old films.

“Miss Cooper, take a seat,” the older man in the large chair said with a smile that reminded me vaguely of a piranha, baring its teeth before it attacked.

I fell into the dark blue chair across the desk from him and stared blankly, awaiting whatever stern warning he was most likely going to give me. I probably shouldn't have smuggled that flask of whiskey into that Biology class last week, but come on, I'd had a rough century.

“Miss Cooper,” began the unfamiliar man, a sneer in his voice, “seeing as I'm new to this position, I've been doing some research on students of interest, one of which you happen to be, and I have to say I found something quite interesting. Or rather, it was what I _didn't_ find that caught my eye.”

Pursing my lips, I decided the best way to respond was with ignorance. Whoever this guy was, I didn't like him, and this authority he thought he held over me didn't exist. I was about to show him why little boys shouldn't play with snakes. “Is that so?” I drawled, unbothered.

Whatever he _thought_ he knew, he was far, far off the mark.

“Miss Cooper, I'm afraid all of your necessary documentation seems to be missing. There are no transcripts, no birth certificate, not even a copy of your previous results on the database,” the stranger told me, his beady, untrustworthy little eyes flickering over my features. I knew that look, he was searching for a hole in my perfectly constructed mask. A hole he'd never find. “So, I used the other resources at my disposal to find what I needed and I have to say, I think I finally found what I needed.”

I let a curious smile overtake my features, and it was only half fake. I had to admit, I was curious as to what this tiny, little, _insignificant_ human thought he knew about me. Maybe he didn't need the snake just yet – maybe he needed to see the innocent little teenager everyone was meant to think I was.

Because protection from exposure was paramount, no matter how much I wanted to show him that my bite was worse than my bark.

“And what was that?” I asked him with a wide-eyed stare.

The man smiled like he held all the cards. “Miss Cooper, tell me, have you ever lived in London?”

My core body temperature dropped as my entire being froze in place. I had been expecting a newspaper article reference to another Juliet Cooper, or an old picture, maybe results from my time at Harvard. I wasn't expecting him to get so close to what I had carefully hidden in my past. The person I used to be.

Fangs prickling at my gums, I let my eyes sweep the room in a casual move. Really I was checking the exits and assessing weaponry distance. I could kill him just using my teeth, but it would be so much easier to pass off as a sexual attack if I stabbed him in the jugular with one of his pencils. It was a waste of perfectly good blood, but the sacrifice would be worth it.

Letting my eyes drift back to the principal, I blinked at him innocently. “Can't say that I have,” I said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Why?”

He smiled again, eyes like deadly chips of ice. “You have a hint of an accent, my dear,” he told me in as close to a sweet voice as an old man could get. My gums prickled again, and I bit down on my tongue. “You've tried to hide it, but I have a good ear for these things,” he sneered.

He knew more than he was saying, I could see it in the smugness in the lines on his face.

I levelled my gaze at him, calming my tumultuous insides long enough to try to drag him under my control. Pupils contracting and my expression wiped of emotion, I held his gaze. “What do you know, human?” I demanded, voice like liquid velvet, melting throughout the room, calling into his mind for the truth.

“I would ask,” he began with the kind of self-satisfied smirk that made me want to rip his spine out through his mouth, “that you refer to me as 'sir'.”

Breaking the pointless connection I'd been trying to establish, I blinked in surprise. It hadn't worked. Why the _bloody_ _hell_ hadn't it worked?

I stared, monitoring his heart for any stutters, any small tell that he was bluffing or lying to me. Pretending to know more than he did. The only explanation I had was vervain, but I knew the only source in town lay in the hands of the Argents. I had to wonder how he not only knew what it _was,_ but he knew what it did and how to use it correctly.

My eyes flickered down to the name plate I had previously ignored.

_Gerard Argent._

Part of me was surprised to see he was an Argent, but mostly it all just made that much more sense. I kept my expression carefully clear, giving nothing away. He held my stare for an impressively long time, and I stopped breathing and blinking, refusing to be the first to break.

Finally he broke it, and I felt a curl of proud satisfaction.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked innocently. But I could see the unspoken dare clear as day; take the tea – undoubtedly laced with vervain – and 'prove' I was human, or deny and all but prove myself guilty of vampirism. As if it were a crime to be condemned of.

I chose impulsively, my own anger and stubbornness driving my stupidity. The risk of exposure was gone. This man already knew. There was nothing to be gained by maintaining pretences. Besides, I was too pissed off for it to matter.

As far as I was concerned, this school was my territory; and if there was one thing a vampire could not abide by, it was having their territory trespassed upon.

“I think I might be allergic,” I smiled at him, utterly condescendingly as I raised my eyebrows in challenge. I smiled, letting my lips split open, revealing perfectly pearly white teeth. My fangs remained hidden, but I took pleasure knowing he knew they were there, just waiting to be used to rip into his vulnerable jugular vein.

He looked torn between experiencing terror, rage and glee. I smirked wider, struggling to keep my hands from forming makeshift claws. Hunger itched at my insides, but I didn't allow myself to inhale, too scared to smell his blood. It would only tempt the impossible – if he was dosed with vervain, that meant his blood was undrinkable.

Argent stared across at me silently, sizing me up, wondering exactly what level threat I was, probably contemplating my knowledge of the local pack.

The fact that werewolves and vampires were typically enemies now worked in my favour. There was little chance he would suspect we were working together, much less that I was friends with any of them.

I knew that neither Papa Argent nor Allison had told him anything about me, leaving him unaware of exactly who I was. I didn't feel grateful – a little relieved, maybe, but not indebted in the slightest.

All this old man knew about me was what he'd been able to find in his own research, or perhaps from stories he'd heard in his lifetime. I wasn't ignorant to the reputation I'd garnered over my many years upon the earth. I knew about the secrets and stories whispered in the dark, about a vampire who had – at one point in time – been so bloodthirsty and uncontrollable that she'd levelled entire towns into nothing but dust and rotting flesh.

Back in the room, I waited for Argent to make the first move after my confession, considering what he might say. He managed to surprise me. “Maybe I should ring your parents,” he sneered, as if playing a card that would trap me.

I didn't flinch. “I'm emancipated,” I told him cooly.

“Oh really?” he countered with a lined, ugly smirk. He leaned forwards in his seat, folding his hands together on the table, beady eyes flickering over my form. “How long ago did you leave your family?” he asked simply.

Another test; I was beginning to think he had a fondness for them. I flashed my teeth once more, unable to be bothered with playing it safe. He already knew, and he'd come into _my_ territory to threaten me. What was the harm in telling him _exactly_ how strong I was? _Exactly_ how much I could make him regret ever setting foot in town?

“Oh,” I drawled with a threatening, toothy grin, “it feels like _centuries_ ago now.”

He sat back, the gesture carefully measured. His heart rate was steady, something that irked me more than I wanted to admit. I wanted him scared. I wanted him begging me for mercy as I tore his skin off layer by layer.

“I see,” he muttered, and I tried to contain my pleasure at his frown. He didn't like what he was discovering. He probably didn't expect a creature as old as me to be playing schoolgirl in a small town like this. He had no idea what I was capable of – what I would do to him given the chance.

The old standard ringtone of my phone went suddenly off, but neither one of us flinched. I pulled the little rectangle of plastic out of my pocket, shooting the screen a cursory glance. “I have to take this,” I told the frail-looking Argent, sliding to my feet. “I assume you got everything you wanted?” I asked in a tone of distinct disinterest.

Argent gave what I was sure was his most creepy smile. “And more, Miss Cooper.”

But that didn't scare me. I didn't bother with a goodbye, simply slipping from the room and stalking past the clueless secretary without so much as a glance.

“What?” I answered the call in a snap, already making my way down the hall, putting distance between me and the Argent now running my school.

Derek's familiar, low voice rumbled down the line. “ _You have to go to the station and keep an eye on Isaac_.”

I balked at his presumptuous words. “I don't _have_ to do anything,” I reminded him tartly.

Derek sighed, and I could hear his frustration even through the phone. “ _Would you just go? If not for me, then at least for him_.”

I narrowed my eyes at a suspicious stain on the far wall, footsteps silent on the shiny linoleum floor as I stalked my way down the corridor. “Why should that make me any more inclined to do it?” I demanded petulantly.

“ _Don't play coy, Juliet_ ,” he snapped back, and I heard the sound of a car engine revving in the background of the call. “ _I know you two are friends_.”

I scoffed at the suggestion. “Acquaintances,” I corrected sharply. “And just barely.”

“ _Look,_ ” he said bracingly, and I knew I wasn't going to like whatever followed, “ _you don't kill, and there must be reason for that. If you're not going to go down there to protect him, he could_ die. _Something tells me – as unlikely as if seems for something like you – that you don't want Isaac's blood on your hands_.”

And to my horror, he wasn't wrong.

My expression hardened and I bit back a scathing retort. Deciding there was no way to reply without starting an argument I simply ended the call, trying not to crush the phone in my fist's tight grip.

Going down to the police station and playing stakeout was about the last thing I wanted to be doing, but Derek was right, I couldn't let Isaac die – not knowing I could help prevent it. Besides, I'd told Stiles to let me know if I could help. It wouldn't be prudent to my self-imposed rehabilitation if I went back on my word. Not now.

Finally having a good reason to cut class, I left the school for the direction of the slummier part of Beacon Hills, where the police station resided. I stopped only for a new pack of smokes at a gas station off the main road, then reluctantly parked myself in the shadows of the alley across from the station.

The wait was long and boring, but so was life, and I was used enough to that. Every few minutes I'd glance up at the sun, judging its position in the sky and dreading when it would disappear, giving way to the deadly moonlight that plagued all wolves.

It was several hours later that Derek finally showed up, and to my surprise, he wasn't alone. They arrived in Stiles' jeep, and I scowled at them as I stepped out into the light once more, meeting them across the road from the station.

“Took you long enough,” I drawled bitterly, crushing the butt of my latest cigarette under the heel of my boot. Derek curled his lip at me, but I ignored his reaction, turning my attention to Stiles. He's tripped out of the driver's side door, staggering across to meet us on the footpath in front of the police station, wiping his hands on the plaid material of his shirt.

“Has anything happened?” Derek asked me coldly.

I wanted to make a snide remark about not being worth his pleasantries, but decided that with it being so close to moonrise it was probably best to save the quips for later.

“They questioned Isaac once, but he wouldn't talk so they just left him in the holding cell,” I answered, just as cool. He nodded, rolling his shoulders like he was preparing for a fight, sticking his chin up in the air and strolling past me into the building.

“There's a hunter on his way, he's going to test Isaac with wolfsbane, and if he fails the test, which we know he will...” he trailed off with a wince. “I'm sure you can imagine what they'll do then,” he finished in a hushed whisper, like the words themselves were too evil to speak aloud.

I wondered briefly how they knew all this, but ultimately decided to get the play-by-play later. There were more important things to be doing with our time right now.

“What's he doing?” I whispered as I listened to Derek approaching the officer behind the help desk in the lobby of the station.

“Uh, distracting her so we can get past,” Stiles whispered back.

I frowned suspiciously. “Distracting her how?”

“Uh, by being charming, I suppose?” he winced, obviously seeing the stupidity of the plan now that he was saying it out loud.

“I could've just compelled her,” I reminded him, but he quickly shook his head.

“Vervain,” he explained, and I pressed my lips together to keep myself from flashing my fangs in retaliation.

I tilted my head as I listened to the conversation happening on the other side of the door we were hid behind. Personally I thought Derek was a pathetic mess – and not even a hot one – but something about what he was doing seemed to work on the human, as her heart pumped off the charts. I sniffed, sensing her interest in him, and tried not to gag.

Impatient, I waved Stiles through the door and he hurriedly tripped out into the open. The officer didn't give him so much as a glance, all of her attention focused on the romantic train-wreck that was Derek Hale.

I rolled my eyes as Stiles stumbled across the room, diving back behind cover the second he was safely on the other side, like he thought he was James fucking Bond. I slid out from my hiding space, footsteps silent as I calmly walked across the canyon between us, meeting a sweating Stiles at the door to his father's office.

“You go make sure Isaac's safe,” he said as he jiggled the handle to the room, nodding to himself when it clicked open without resistance. “I'll meet you there.”

“Why, what're you gonna do?” I whispered back.

“Just go,” he replied before ducking into the office and shutting the door behind him. I glared at the frosted glass separating us. I so hated being told what to do.

Reluctantly I spun around and followed the scent of wet dog, knowing it would lead me to Isaac.

Along the way I passed a bleeding man, lay collapsed in the hallways, hands held to his leaking wound. Instinctively I inhaled, mouth watering at the irresistible scent of his blood in the air. I knew it was best for everyone involved if I didn't stop to assess that situation, closing my eyes and letting my other senses lead the way. I had to stop breathing all together to keep myself from turning around and draining the poor fucker dry.

Finally I found my way to the room with the holding cells. Isaac was groaning in agony from where he was positioned within the centre cell, otherwise the room was empty. I tiptoed to the door, peering through the small window at his sweating, trembling form.

“Isaac,” I said, calm and quiet.

His head snapped up, canine teeth in full view, glistening white in the harsh light of the cell, and his eyes glowing a threatening amber.

“Isaac,” I repeated gently, doing my best to keep a level head even when my every instinct was telling me to run far, far away. “It's okay,” I said in my most soothing voice.

The werewolf sniffed the air, and I realised instantly what had happened: he'd caught wind of my scent. Nothing riled up a new wolf like the deathly stench of vampire.

He leapt forwards, a feral snarl ripping from his teeth as he threw himself against the thick metal door separating us. It banged loudly, the hinges creaking, but ultimately it didn't budge; which was lucky, because I wasn't in the mood to put down any dogs.

Unfortunately, luck wasn't actually on my side.

He didn't stop his attack, wild and crazed with my scent. I swore to myself, taking a wise step backwards. Two more throws of his impressive weight against the door and it ripped off its hinges like they were made from nothing but paper, cracking open with a almighty bang.

I ducked out of the way, avoiding getting slammed in the face by a metal door. But the flying door was the least of my problems.

Isaac growled, lunging for me once again. Acting on instinct I kicked out my leg, hitting him in the gut and sending him sailing backwards into the wall. The plaster cracked and crumbled under the assault. The wolf was momentarily winded, resting against the bricks as he caught his breath.

“C'mon, Isaac,” I said, keeping my voice light and airy. “I don't wanna hurt you,” I added, meaning it. He gave a small snarl, muscles tensing like a coiled up snake, preparing to strike. I sighed, mentally rolling up my sleeves. “I said I don't _want_ to,” I reminded him, already sliding down into a crouch, “not that I _wouldn't._ ”

He copied my crouch, hunching over as he built up to his attack. My fangs to slid free of my gums, poking out into the light, sharp and utterly deadly.

But before either of us could make a move the room filled with the alluring scent of fresh blood and both of our attention slipped to the source. The bleeding man from out in the hall had gathered himself, hobbling into the room. Only he wasn't alone.

My hackles rose when I realised the lump he was dragging in behind him wasn't a lump at all, but rather a dazed, struggling Stiles. Neither of them had noticed us, both Isaac and I on opposite sides of the room, and the two humans stared at the broken door and empty cell in mounting horror.

The smell of blood was rich and intoxicating, and my muscles coiled as I heard the man's wet, thumping heartbeat. For a moment, I genuinely didn't know who was more of a threat – me or Isaac.

Isaac answered my question for me, lunging forwards in a ruthless attack.

With a roar he launched himself at the bleeding man, and despite my hunger I wasn't about to get in between that. I stepped back against the wall, stopping breathing all together as I watched the wolf slam into the older human, throwing him against the wall.

I used the distraction to my advantage, and in the blink of an eye I was crouched beside Stiles. He yelped at the way I seemed to materialise, but I ignored it, grabbing a handful of his shirt and tugging him away from the fight.

The last thing I wanted was for him to get hurt. Besides, friends didn't let friends become casualties of supernatural disputes. That _was_ the saying, wasn't it?

“Jules-” Stiles tried to say, but I didn't have time to stop and listen to him talk. I shoved him against the far wall, making sure he was well and truly out of the way. He tried to get my attention again, but I just ignored him.

Isaac was now snarling. All his humanity was gone in that moment, siphoned out until only the wolf remained. It was something I could relate to.

I looked over at the human, wondering suddenly what Isaac would do if he ended up killing this man. I wasn't sure what his stance was on murder now that he was a werewolf, but I did know wolves weren't reborn soulless like vampires were. They still held onto their humanity, as alive as anyone else.

I knew what it was like to have deaths on your conscience when you weren't in full control of your actions. Isaac had been kind to me, that night at the dance. He was a good kid. I wasn't about to let him become a cold-blooded killer.

Isaac thrust his hand into the hunter's face and the man was sent to the floor, blood pouring from his shattered nose.

Before I really knew what I was doing I caught his hand just as it was poised to strike again. Isaac spun around, snarling at me furiously, and I suddenly regretted moving at all. But, what's done is done, and if the wolf wanted a fight; a fight he would get.

Curling my own lip back I flashed my fangs in a promise of violence. My eyes flooded with blood as what was left of my control slipped away. Now I was only in it to win.

In a move far too quick for him to predict I landed kick to his abdomen, this one meant to wind him, then punched him clean in the face. I heard bone crack under my knuckles and smiled in sick satisfaction.

Isaac flinched back but recovered quickly. He landed a punch to my throat, but luckily I didn't need air to breathe, so I fought off the winded feeling I got, shoving my elbow into his face. He yelped like an injured puppy, and without pause I backhanded him across the face. His lip burst open, unappetising blood pouring down over his chin.

Before I could make the kill shot there was a ferocious growl from behind me, an order and a warning to stop fighting. As if trained both the wolf and I stopped fighting, whirling around to stare at the source of the noise.

It was Derek, stood in the middle of the room with his eyes glowing a brilliant red, canines exposed in warning. He glowered at Isaac who instantly started whimpering submissively. Like a small, hurt child he collapsed in on himself, ducking into a corner and curling into a ball.

Angry at him for disturbing my kill, I hissed at Derek in displeasure. He growled back, more of a word than a sound, and I realised it was my name.

Coming back to myself, I straightened my spine, taking a deep breath in through my mouth.

“How did you do that?” asked a young, familiar voice. Realising where I was and what was happening, I immediately sealed my lips shut. My fangs slid back into their hiding place and the blood promptly drained from my eyes, leaving me looking deceptively human once more.

“I'm the alpha,” said Derek like a cocky bastard.

I shot him a sour look, but he ignored me. I got the distinct impression that he couldn't have cared less. Begrudgingly, I had to respect him for it. Just a little.

“We need to get him to safety,” Derek continued, turning to look at me pointedly, “before any more cops show up.”

And he was right – this hadn't exactly been handled delicately. Alarms had been tripped, people had overheard. More humans would be on their way, armed with blind incompetence and good-intentions.

I glanced down at Isaac, watching as he whimpered and cried, scared out of his mind. “You need to take him,” I told Derek. “I can't risk having his teeth that close to me. Not on a full moon.”

Stiles looked confused, but Derek seemed to understand, nodding as he leant down to thread Isaac's arm over his shoulders, hefting him effortlessly to his feet.

In the harsh lights of the cells, Isaac's face suddenly looked so young and innocent, despite being covered in blood. I softened, feeling a distinct responsibility that I wanted desperately to ignore, but knew I couldn't. This was the whole point of being here, wasn't it? To become better? Worthy?

“I'll come with you,” I offered, and Derek cast me a look of distinct surprise that I happily ignored.

Casting my glance over to Stiles, I met his eyes. “I'll be fine,” he assured me, somehow knowing what I needed to hear before even I did. “Go. Quickly,” he urged us.

And so we did.

* * *

After Derek and I got Isaac settled and safely chained up for the rest of the night, I eagerly took my leave. Isaac was in no state to talk about his new status among the creatures of the night, so I figured I'd give him a few days to recover before checking in on him at all.

I wasn't sure where to go next. My house felt cold and empty, and it was a school night, meaning the local bars would hardly be worth the trip. I wandered through the streets, enjoying the soothing dark and quiet, and breathing in the fresh air, untainted by the irresistible smell of freshly spilled blood.

It certainly helped me get my head back on straight, and when I found myself standing outside Stiles' house, I really wasn't so surprised.

“Did your dad give you much trouble?”

Stiles jumped violently, squeaking like a chipmunk and grasping his chest, spinning around to frown at me from his place at his desk. I smirked back crookedly, crossing my arms and leaning against the windowsill, one leg dangling out onto his roof, the other curled under me as I peered at him, waiting patiently for an answer.

“We should get you a bell,” he said dryly, leaning back in his chair, face illuminated by the glow of his computer screen and the small lamp on his night stand. I raised an eyebrow at him, awaiting an answer to my question. “He was pretty pissed, but he'll get over it,” he assured me.

“Why don't you just tell him?” I asked curiously. And it was a fair enough question. So many of his problems would go away if he just came clean to his father about the supernatural. He wouldn't have to lie to the man every day; wouldn't have to live his life trying to keep his dad in the dark.

Stiles lifted one shoulder, letting it drop. Something about the movement was sad, but I didn't know why. “To protect him, I guess,” he sighed.

I wasn't sure I understood, but I said nothing, eyes drifting listlessly over the different posters covering his wall. When I was young and human, people didn't decorate with posters like they did now days. I wondered, vaguely what would have been on the posters in my room, all the way back then. What would have been worthy of my idolisation?

“Can I see your face?” Stiles spoke up suddenly, and I looked back at him in surprise.

I tilted my head, confused. “You're looking at it, sunshine,” I chimed, and he smiled for a moment before turning serious again. There was something deeper going on here, and I evened out my expression, suddenly on my guard.

Stiles moved forwards, using his feet to drag his wheeled desk chair closer to the windowsill I was perched on. He came to a stop in front of me, peering up at me with those large, coffee coloured eyes.

“I want to see it,” he said, softer than I'd expected, and suddenly I knew what he meant. “Properly.”

I hesitated, unsure how to respond. He wanted to see my true face – the one I hid from the world, the one that defined who I was now. It wasn't a pretty sight; wasn't something I'd ever been asked to show before. Though, I supposed, I'd never been genuine friends with a human before, and creatures didn't tend to be as naturally curious.

A part of me was scared. Scared he'd see my true face, bloody eyes and all, and run away screaming. The other part of me was scared he wouldn't, and that scared _me_. In the end, the pros and cons didn't really matter. I couldn't have denied this boy anything if I'd wanted to.

I swung my leg around so they were both inside his bedroom, thighs resting on the lip of his windowsill. We were facing each other now, my hands holding tightly to the wood beneath me, as if it would help ground me to the moment.

“Are you sure?” I asked him quietly, giving him an opportunity to reconsider. Once he saw me – the real me – it would change everything. It was like letting him glimpse into my soul, or my past.

The human before me gulped but still nodded, heart racing in his chest. I marvelled briefly at his bravery, but moved on before it could distract me.

I took a deep breath to centre myself. My eyes never left his as I reluctantly allowed my human mask to melt away. My eyes, flooded, the irises turning an inky black while the white became an evil, bloody red. I felt the spaces under my eyes tingle as veins appeared, winding their way down my porcelain skin like the most deadly of vines. I let my chin drop and my lip curl back, revealing the pearly white fangs that had slipped from their hiding place, into the light.

Stiles' heart rate spiked again, and I could smell his adrenaline on the air, and yet he didn't flinch away like I'd expected him to.

He stared for a long time, saying absolutely nothing but just drinking in my vampire's face. For once his expression gave nothing away. I had no clue what he was thinking. Was he repulsed? Horrified? _Afraid_?

My frozen heart clenched as I stared back, trying to hide my anxiety, keep it from showing in my bloodied eyes. I was surprised when his hand slowly lifted, tentatively – like he thought I was going to flinch away – approaching my features. It seemed to take an eternity, but eventually his skin was on mine, his hand cupping my jaw and his thumb gently brushing the hideous veins under my eyes.

I felt my brow furrow in confusion as I watched him stare at me, feeling the cool skin under his hand. Slowly his fingers moved down towards my mouth, and I held my breath as they brushed my lips before moving down to run over the teeth. It was a dangerous game he was playing, and I wondered why he trusted me enough to touch my fangs. Would he still do the same if he knew just how many lives these same fangs had ended? If he knew how they craved blood – _his_ blood?

“Does it hurt?” he asked me quietly, still gently running the pad of his finger up and down the length of my fang. “When they come out?”

He pulled back, folding his hands together in his lap so I could answer properly. “At first it did,” I said, my voice pathetically shaky. I swallowed, trying to regain my equilibrium. “Not anymore,” I whispered, honest and plain.

He stared back at me, eyes indescribable, and slowly I let the features fade. My fangs sank back up into my gums and the blood drained from my eyes, the veins disappearing with it. Stiles' expression didn't shift, he continued to stare at me with the same intensity, a seriousness that was so unlike him.

“Bet you do that to charm all the boys,” he joked suddenly.

...And there it was.

“Hardly,” I scoffed, leaning back against the half opened glass of the window. “More like _terrify_ all the boys.”

He leaned back in his chair too, and suddenly the strange tension that had materialised was gone, just as quick as it had appeared. I finally felt like I could breathe again. “I don't see how,” said Stiles flippantly, trying to hold back a grin. “I hate to break it to you, Jules, but you're really not all that scary.”

I raised a single eyebrow at him, my own lips twitching. I felt lighter than I could remember feeling in a long time, and I wondered what it was about what had just happened that was so significant. It was confusing, like a puzzle with a dozen missing pieces.

“I'll have you know, I was once driven from a town with pitchforks,” I told him, smirking to cover up my curious mind. Stiles laughed at the fact. “And I once had a priest perform an exorcism on me. He thought I was possessed,” I added with a proud little smirk.

Stiles laughed again. “Were you in the habit of wearing capes at the time?”

“No, but I did live in an abandoned castle.”

“That'll be what did it then.”

I looked away, smirk melting into a smile. “Uh-huh,” I hummed non-committally.

We were silent for a moment, both of us basking in the ease of our conversation. It was hard to believe that only a few hours ago we were in a room with a hunter and a werewolf fighting to the death, blood staining the floor.

“You ever watched Van Helsing?” Stiles asked me suddenly, cocking his head. “The 2004 version?” he added, as if that might help.

I shot him my most blank stare. “Can't say that I have.”

“And I bet it's been a long time since you last ate popcorn, huh?”

“It's been somewhere up in the decades, yes.”

“Well then, I think we need to re-introduce you to these things,” he said, nodding seriously as he spoke. I didn't move an inch. “That was an invitation. To watch a movie and eat junk. With me,” he said, sensing I needed clarification.

I blinked. “Oh.”

Stiles only laughed, and I was surprised that my obliviousness seemed to amuse him, rather than annoy him. That was certainly a nice change of pace.

“Come on,” he chuckled, pushing himself to his feet and holding out a hand for me to take. I did so cautiously, letting him pull me off the windowsill to my feet. His skin was hot under mine, and I gladly let go of his hand the moment I was upright. “I'll take care of the popcorn – I don't need you breaking the microwave. But if my dad pokes his head in, can you hide under the bed or something? I'm technically grounded,” he said as he wandered towards the door.

I awkwardly nodded, throwing him a clumsy thumbs up. “You got it.”

He grinned, rolling his eyes good-naturedly before disappearing out into the hallway.

I folded my hands behind my back, awkwardly transferring my weight to the balls of my feet as I peered around the low lit room. Deciding it was weird to stand in the exact same spot he'd left me in, I strolled closer to his desk, curiously peeking at what he was working on.

If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought he might have been doing homework. But this was _Stiles_ , so I wasn't surprised to find printed out sheets about common folklores and conspiracies spread out across the desktop. I reached forwards, sifting gently through the pages until one in particular caught my eye.

_The Truth About the Battle of Willow Creek._

I smirked to myself. Oh, the stories I could tell him.

I laid it back on the desk, folding my hands back behind me once more as I moved over to his chest of drawers. A line of photographs caught my eye, and I stepped closer, a smile lighting up my face as I peered at a baby-faced Stiles sandwiched between the Sheriff and a beautiful woman with flowing red hair. I moved down the line, pausing to gaze at each one, my smile widening with each look I got into this human's life.

The last one was the best. Stiles stood in a baseball uniform, a too-big hat on his head that was slipping off on the side. He was missing his two front teeth and holding a signed baseball in his hand, the woman from the previous pictures – who could only be his mother – was standing behind him, a bright smile on her face as she looked down at her son with pride.

I carefully picked the frame up, pulling it closer to me to get a better look. The corners of my lips were tugging up before I could stop them, and I stared down at the picture, feeling a sense of wonder appear, unbidden, in my gut.

I adored this boy.

His sense of humour was cruel and scathing in the very best way, but when it came down to it, he had the kindest, most pure heart of any human I'd met in my two long, long centuries. He could look passed my fangs and red eyes, see the person underneath. When I was with him I forgot all those years of pain and hunger, when I was with him I was that little girl from 1824, who laughed louder than anyone, and had more kindness in her little finger than most had in their whole bodies.

I knew, logically, that girl was long since dead and gone. But I wondered if maybe there was still a spark of her floating around somewhere inside of me; if maybe I'd just never found the right person to bring it out in me.

Maybe now I had.

“I was seven,” Stiles' quiet voice came from the door, and I looked up in surprise, having been so caught up in my thoughts that I hadn't heard him approach. I wiped the smile off my face, pointlessly hoping he hadn't seen the dopey expression. “My parents drove me into the city to see my first live game, and dad pulled some strings to let me meet my favourite player.” He was leaning in the doorway, big bowl of popcorn held under one arm. “It was a great day.”

I turned back to the drawers, carefully putting the frame back in its place on the top. “She's beautiful,” I said matter-of-factly, giving it one final look over before I turned back to Stiles, my most gentle smile on my lips which I discovered that, for once, I didn't have to force into being.

“Yeah,” he agreed, then shook his head as if to shake off the memories before striding into the room. He put the bowl of popcorn on the desk, then turned around and moved to the door. He began to shut it, pulling a strained face when it creaked loudly. He paused, making sure he couldn't hear his dad moving around in the room over before doing it again, this time biting the bullet and shutting it quickly. It locked into place with a dull thud and the kid gave a sigh of relief, brushing imaginary sweat from his brow.

I chortled, rolling my eyes and moving back over to the desk, plucking a piece of popcorn from the bowl and tossing it in the air, catching it expertly in my mouth.

“ _Please_ ,” Stiles scoffed when I flashed him a smug smile. “Anyone can do that.”

“Oh yeah?” I challenged, and he bristled for a moment before stepping forwards, grabbing a piece of his own before tossing it into the air.

With the low lighting and his severe lack of coordination, it bounced off his nose and onto the floor. He pouted at it for a moment before picking another piece and trying again.

This time it hit him in the eye. It wasn't until his fourth attempt that he actually succeeded.

Eventually he moved over to his bed, grabbing the covers and tearing them from his mattress until they lay in a puddle on the floor. “What are you doing?” I asked softly, pooping another few pieces of the surprisingly delicious popcorn into my mouth.

“Making a nest,” he replied like it was painstakingly obvious.

I tilted my head at him but he didn't feel the need to elaborate, pulling his pillows off and arranging them on the floor as well.

After a long few minutes of tweaking he stepped back and gestured for me to take a seat. I raised an eyebrow but did as he asked, moving forwards and slowly lowering myself into the makeshift nest. It was surprisingly comfortable, I realised, as I reclined back against the pillows. Stiles stared at me expectantly, awaiting my assessment. “I like it,” I told him reassuringly, my lips moving into a smile of their own accord.

He grinned crookedly, bouncing over to the desk and grabbing his laptop and the bowl of popcorn, bringing them with him as he settled in beside me. His leg rested flush against mine, and I heard his heart speed up at the contact, but for his sake I said nothing. He handed over the bowl, setting up the film and leaning back as it started to play.

Stiles liked to feed me with trivia and fun facts about the movie as it played, and I found I didn't mind at all, listening intently as he animatedly talked about the landscape shots we could see on the screen.

I smiled through the darkness at the boy, his face lit up from the glow of the screen, watching as he gestured wildly, explaining the stunt happening in front of us. It had been decades since I'd last felt happiness this sincere, this intense. I'd forgotten what it felt like.

But if I had to describe what I felt in that moment, I would say it was pure joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter - don't forget to leave me a review and let me know your thoughts. Are you enjoying the story? I'd love to hear from you!


	17. Going To Hell

_You know I know,_

_Yes, I've been told I redefine a sin._

_I don't know what's driving me to put this in my head._

_Maybe I wish I could die, maybe I am dead!_

Going To Hell – The Pretty Reckless

* * *

“Well done, Juliet!” Coach boomed loudly as I let go of the wall, allowing myself to float peacefully to the ground. “Greenberg, hurry up!” he snapped once my feet were flat on the floor, glancing up at the kid who had only managed to make it halfway up the wall in the time it'd taken me to finish.

I unhooked the harness, stepping out of it and handing it off to Allison who took it with a small smile. I stepped back into the crowd, moving until I stood beside the one kid in this school I could actually stand.

“We've talked about this,” Stiles murmured to me from the corner of his lips, attempting to be subtle. “No using your enhanced abilities to make us humans look bad.”

“Please,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes and crossing my arms over my old teeshirt. “It was only Greenberg.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but paused, not able to come up with anything substantial. “You have a point,” he finally replied, clicking his tongue and watching as the guy finally made it to the ground, standing on shaky legs before he handed his harness off to Scott. “Scallison.”

My brow lifted, and I looked away from the ascending teens to fix him with a look of pure confusion.

“It's their ship name,” he told me, like it was painfully obvious and I were thick for not realising sooner. “Scallison.”

“That's not a real word,” I informed him tightly.

“Wha-I _know_ ,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. “It's a combination of their names; their ship name.”

“Ship?”

He sighed as if I were sucking the very life from his veins – which, if he wasn't careful, I just might very well do. “As in – relation _ship_ ,” he told me slowly, like he was talking to a small child. “It means you want them to be together, sort of.”

“But why make up words?”

“That's just what people do these days,” he responded, turning to look at me with a stupid smirk on his lips. “Which I guess you wouldn't know, seeing as you're about a thousand years old.”

I curled my lip at his quip but he wasn't put off by it, grinning back at me toothily. There was a yelp from in front of us, and both of our gazes snapped to the rock wall, watching as Scott fell to the floor, his harness catching him only a foot above the ground. I sniggered, watching as Coach murmured to him before calling on Stiles and some blonde girl with a skin problem and messy hair.

I slapped Stiles on the shoulder as he moved forwards, a silent, if not slightly awkward, encouragement.

Stiles had made it to the top and back down to the floor again before Erica was even five feet off the ground. The poor girl was frozen in fear and shaking like a leaf. I listened to her heart pound in her chest as she glanced at the ground, sobbing loudly with terror. I could imagine how terrified she must have been. We all had fears – some more founded than others.

“Erica?” Coach asked worriedly. Everyone crowded into the space beneath the girl, staring up at her like she were a display in the zoo. “Are you dizzy? Is it vertigo?”

“Vertigo's a dysfunction of the vestibular system of the inner ear,” Lydia Martin spoke up, glancing at the teacher with distaste. “She's just freaking out.”

Coach shot her a look, but he had more important things to worry about that the Queen Bee's strange response. “Erica!” he called, hardly helpful, but I supposed that was why he was teaching high school gym and not doing something important with his fleeting life.

“I'm fine,” Erica insisted shakily. Nobody on the ground believed her, least of all me.

“Coach, maybe it's not safe. You know she's epileptic,” Allison spoke up from behind him.

Coach blanched. “Why doesn't anybody tell me this stuff? Erica, you're fine! Just kick off from the wall, there's a mat to catch you.”

With only a little more coaxing the girl finally pushed off from the wall, floating gently to the ground. She turned around and made a beeline for the door, head ducking in embarrassment as cruel laughter tittered through the crowd. I rolled my eyes at both her and the group of shallow teenagers.

“Man, that must have been terrible,” Stiles muttered under his breath once he made it to my side, staring after the girl, sympathy in his whisky eyes.

“Hm,” I hummed in acknowledgement, but my mind had already moved on. I was thinking about my plans for the night, absentmindedly wondering whether a snack run to the hospital was in order. “See you at lunch,” I told him distractedly, giving a halfhearted wave as I followed the line of girls heading for the woman's locker room.

I didn't bother with a shower, merely pulling my dark pants back on and slipping my feet into my old combat boots, painting on a coat of lipstick in the mirror before turning around and heading back the way I'd come in, Erica and her insignificant problems already far from my mind.

* * *

“I'll pick you up right after work tonight, and we'll meet them at the rink. Cool?”

“What's at the rink?” I asked innocently. Stiles jumped violently, wheeling around to stare at me with wide eyes. I was perched on the chair beside him, one leg crossed over the other as I waited patiently for an answer.

His mouth opened as he went to reply, but no sound came out. I raised an eyebrow at him but it didn't seem to help matters, he just continued to splutter incoherently.

I rolled my eyes as him before looking expectantly to Scott for a reply. “Double date,” he explained with a smile.

“Ooh,” I teased, leaning forwards and resting my chin in my palm. “Who are the lucky ladies?”

“Allison and Lydia,” Scott told me, a dopey grin on his face as he said his lover's name.

Stiles seemed to get ahold of himself a moment later. “We'd invite you but...” he trailed off, not seeming to know the words.

“You don't want a 'thousand year old' vampire cramping your style?” I finished for him, tilting my head and narrowing my eyes. The way I threw his words back at him made him wince, and I smirked in pleasure at his uncomfortable expression.

He was saved from having to formulate a reply when Scott interjected, sensing trouble. “How old are you, anyway?” the puppy asked me curiously.

I glanced at Stiles, whose cheeks were marred with red blotches. That could only mean that he hadn't gone running back to Scott, telling him everything I'd divulged when we were alone. I'd been operating under the assumption that everything I told him got back to Scott eventually, but apparently that wasn't the case. That surprised me – and I didn't like surprises, at all.

“I'm 203,” I told Scott after a lengthy pause.

His eyes went round in shock. “Wow,” he breathed, staring at me like he was seeing a whole new person. Which was ridiculous, because I was exactly the same person I'd been thirty seconds ago – all that had changed was that he knew my age. “Does that mean you lived through the Civil War?” he asked eagerly.

I frowned, the question catching me off guards. “That is how math works, yes,” I replied dryly.

He perked up. “Then can you help me write my history paper?”

I wanted to say no, because that sounded like my own personal brand of hell, but the teen wolf pulled out his puppy-dog eyes, pleading with me to say yes.

I was turning over a new leaf, I reminded myself. The whole point in being here was to become a better person – the kind of person who helped teenagers with the homework without complaining about it.

“Fine,” I grumbled, sliding further down in my chair to avoid their twin stares.

“You're the best,” said Scott, gratitude in his eyes. I waved a hand at him, the barest acknowledgement of his words.

Before he could say anything else, the whole cafeteria seemed to go silent. Confused, I glanced over at Stiles who had looked up at me in the same instant, both of us turning to see what the student body was looking at.

“What the holy hell is that?”

It was a fair enough question from Lydia.

A girl I identified as Erica – the one from the day before, with bad skin and even worse nerves – swaggered into the room, her leopard print heels clicking against the ground as she moved, hips swaying as she made her way over to a table in the centre of the room. By then all eyes were on her, and she smirked as she stole an apple off a trembling boy's plate, taking a saucy bite and moving across the room.

“It's Erica,” Scott whispered, blinking at the sight before him, unsure how to react. I had to admit, I felt similarly.

Erica took another bite of the apple, turning on her heel and sashaying from the room, content that she'd ruffled enough feathers with her dramatic entrance.

Scott shot to his feet, scooping up his backpack and darting from the room. Stiles tripped over himself in his haste to follow. I rolled my eyes, slipping my bag over my shoulder and walking to keep up with them.

It was clear what had happened. Erica was now a wolf, and there was only one alpha in town currently handing out The Bite like it was Halloween candy.

Following the trail her scent left, I shoved open the front doors of the school. Scott and Stiles tumbled out after me, and we watched in silence as Erica slid into a familiar black Camaro. In the driver's seat, Derek turned around, his Ray Bans in place. He grinned at the three of us wolfishly.

I scowled unhappily, raising a single finger in the air at him. He didn't respond other than to widen his smile before stepping on the gas, peeling out of the school parking lot. Smug fucking bastard.

“First Isaac, and now Erica?” Scott exclaimed, filling the silence left by the alpha's exit. His hands flew up to rake through his hair, stress hard on his face. “When will it end?”

I didn't have an answer, so I said nothing, chewing on my bottom lip thoughtfully, staring at the tyre treads on the road leading out of the parking lot.

“How big do alphas usually make their packs?” Stiles asked me, arms crossed over his chest, concern on his face.

I shrugged, expression melting into a glare as they shot me irritated looks at the non-answer.

“I'm a vampire,” I reminded them grouchily. “I haven't exactly spent my free time hanging out with werewolves – at least, not until recently. Why the hell should I know about their pack habits?” They were silent, and I felt their desperation. Inhaling deeply, I concentrated on not snapping at them like a cornered animal. “However, I _may_ have heard a rumour that an alpha needs at least _three_ betas to be at the top of their game,” I grumbled. “So I'd expect at least one more new wolf appearing sometime in the near future.”

Scott only looked stressed, no doubt wondering who would be next on Derek's list. My reply clearly hadn't made him feel any better.

“Look,” I continued with a sigh. “There's nothing we can do about it now. Finish the school day, go to work, then go on your magical double date.”

“And then what?” he asked glumly.

I paused. “Then in the morning we can figure everything out; put our heads together and come up with a strategy.”

Scott looked like he wanted to protest, but Stiles clapped him reassuringly on the back. “She's right, man,” he said, and I tried not to preen at the words. “Let's just focus on getting through the day, then we get to spend the evening with our ladies.”

I snorted, making the buzz-cut teen look at me with raised eyebrows. “Lydia isn't _your lady_ by any stretch of the imagination,” I reminded him snidely.

“She could be,” he snapped back, affronted.

I rolled my eyes just as the bell rang, nudging Scott when I noticed the teen wolf wasn't breathing. “Breathe, Scott,” I instructed, watching as he took a heavy breath. “Just get to class.”

The boys nodded and turned to move into the school, pausing when they suddenly realised I wasn't following. “What about you?” Stiles asked, frowning suspiciously.

“Free period,” I lied easily. He looked like he wanted to argue, but I didn't give him the chance. “I'll see you later, Stiles,” I muttered cooly. They exchanged a look but ultimately knew arguing was pointless. I watched as they wandered back inside the school, waiting until they'd disappeared around the corner before making my way confidently down the steps of the building.

I'd been to Derek's underground lair only a few days previous, when we'd brought Isaac back to recover from the full moon. It was just as grimy and litter-filled as it had been then, and I decided not to breathe in, the stench of garbage nearly overpowering.

I'd been planning to confront Derek about Erica, ask what the fuck he thought he was doing, but as it turned out, Derek wasn't there when I arrived. Clearly he and little miss blondie had errands to run in town. Maybe they were out of milk?

There was, however, one heartbeat in the underground station. I identified its owner quickly, and decided to wander down anyway. It was time I checked in on Mr. Isaac Lahey.

The kid had grown on me in the few hours we'd spent together back at the formal, and I wanted to make sure he wasn't about to throw his life away just to be on Team Derek. I had to at least offer him another option, make sure he knew he wasn't limited to what had been handed to him on a plate.

“Juliet?” Isaac asked in surprise when he caught sight of me descending the stairs into their hidden lair. His heart began to pound in his chest, and a seed of fear appeared in his pretty eyes. He was nervous, like prey cornered by its predator. I knew then that the blindfold was off. He knew I was a vampire, saw me as I truly was: a killer.

“So,” I began in a drawl, stepping onto level ground and peering across at the new wolf with careful, calculating eyes, “Derek told you my dirty little secret then, huh?”

Isaac swallowed still nodded. His knees bent as he crouched into a fighting stance before he'd even realised he was doing it. His wolf instincts were taking over, rewriting his responses, programming him to fight my kind. He couldn't help it any more; it was hardwired into his DNA now.

“Are you _afraid_ of me?” I asked him, my lips tipping up at the corners. It felt like decades since I'd last terrified someone, and I was glad I hadn't seemed to get rusty. Isaac didn't reply, hands balling into fists at his sides. He took a step forwards as if to prove he afraid, his foot resting on a discarded coke can, the sound of its crunch vibrating through the air. “I'm not gonna hurt you, Isaac,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “I just want to talk.”

He remained in his crouch, eyes full of unearned distrust. “About what?” he demanded, perfect jaw clicking as he leant into his instincts. At a base level I was his enemy. He could sense it, a voice in his head telling him to attack.

I was careful not to react. “About your options,” I told him softly. His face scrunched in confusion and I cocked my head to the side, watching him with curious eyes. “What has Derek told you?” I asked, trying a different tactic.

“Everything,” he replied with just a hint of defensiveness, like I was assuming him to be ignorant, just a little bot playing werewolf. “Hunters, full moons, giant lizard creatures, _vampires,_ ” he said with a look of disdain in my direction, “I know all of it.”

I hummed contemplatively, watching him, considering my approach. This boy was so different to the human I'd taken to the dance. He was full of instinct and confidence, bursting with danger and hunger. Newly born wolves were always so unpredictable. I didn't know how he was going to react to what I had to say. I couldn't deny that that made it all the more fun.

“And I'm not afraid of you,” Isaac said suddenly, recalling my previous statement, and I generously pretended I couldn't hear the terrified stutter of his heart. Maybe his head was telling him not to be afraid, but on some subconscious level he could sense my significant power, could sense that, if I so wished, I could rip him into pieces without breaking a sweat.

I could see in his eyes that he wasn't going to be open to anything I had to say, and I had to think to myself: why did this fall onto my shoulders? Why was it my responsibility to take care of the situation these pups were in? They were Derek's problem to solve, I knew that. So then why was there a voice in my head telling me not to abandon them when they needed help?

The fact I didn't react seemed to calm Isaac somewhat, and he very slowly stood up from his defensive crouch. “You've been around since forever, right?” he asked suddenly.

I ignored his terrible grammar and rolled my eyes, peering down at my blue painted nails, examining them for cracks. “I'm older than you'll ever live to be,” I answered him bluntly. The words were true. I'd been here centuries before he was even a thought – and I'd still be here centuries after the last living person had forgotten he'd ever existed.

He swallowed, working up to something. “Do you know what killed my father?” he asked, an echo of pain in his eyes.

I met his baby blues, raising an eyebrow at the question. I wasn't sure why he thought my significant age would mean I knew anything about his father's death, but I wasn't about to leave him high and dry. He might have been a werewolf, but he was still only just a kid.

“No,” I told him truthfully. “But I'm going to find out.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why do you care?” he asked, on the defensive, as if my kindness was somehow a threat.

I didn't react, my expression carefully free of emotion. “Whatever it was isn't being careful,” I told him, perfectly matter-of-fact. “I don't know if Derek's properly explained the rules of exposure to you and your little pack, but it's something I take very seriously.”

“Rules of exposure?” Isaac repeated, brow furrowed in confusion.

I sighed, beginning to walk around the room, careful not to step on any of the discarded trash littering the dirty floor. “It's something of a pact made long ago by representatives of all the creatures, promising that us and our world remain secret from the human population,” I explained in the tone of a tired college professor. All I needed now was a sweater vest and a cup of steaming coffee.

Isaac frowned. “How long ago?”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

He didn't answer, staring back at me expectantly.

“About a thousand years, give or take,” I answered him evenly.

“Then why should we have to abide by it?” he demanded. “Why should we agree to uphold a rule made centuries before we were born.”

My expression hardened into a glare. “You are part of a world that is bigger than yourself now, Isaac,” I informed him darkly, my tone leaving no room for argument. “By accepting the Bite, you agreed to abide by our laws.”

He snorted. “There are _laws_?” he asked incredulously. I didn't answer, staring back at him without expression. “What does this have to do with whatever killed my father?” he persisted, set on getting the answers he wanted.

“Whatever killed your father was messy and untrained in our ways,” I told him. “If we don't find it and stop it, it's going to do this again – either because it needs to or it wants to – and if it's allowed to continue there's no telling what it might achieve. It could risk the safety of our world. It needs to be stopped.”

Isaac looked away, considering my words carefully. “What do you think it is?” he asked quietly. “Another werewolf?”

“Doubtful.”

“Vampire?”

“No.”

He'd never looked more confused. “Then what?”

I smirked, but the expression was void of amusement. “There are far more things in the shadows than just you and I, kid,” I revealed, watching as he shivered at my foreboding words.

His phone rang before either of us could say any more. The cheerful ring cut through the quiet, making the poor pup flinch in surprise.

“You should get that,” I said when he hesitated. Slowly he brought the phone to his ear, and I heard Derek's voice on the other end, but didn't care to listen in.

I'd checked on Isaac, made sure he was okay. There was really no point in staying any longer. One moment I was there, the next I was gone, and Isaac was left wondering what the hell I'd been there to do in the first place.

* * *

I looked up from the book in my hands when footsteps on the pavement of my driveway caught my attention. I slid a bookmark into the pages to save my place before pushing myself off the couch. I got to the door the same time as my visitor. Opening it before they could knock, I raised an eyebrow at a sightly sheepish looking Stiles.

“Hello,” I greeted him perfunctorily, eyes flickering to the Jeep parked on the curb behind him where Scott was sitting in the front seat, his face lit up by the glow of his phone. I glanced up at the sky, wondering when it had gotten dark. Sometimes I got so lost in my reading it was easy to forget the passage of time.

“Hey,” Stiles responded lamely and I focused back on him, watching as he absent-mindedly scratched at his temple. “Uh, so something happened at the rink, and we thought we should tell you about it – thinking _maybe_ you might be able to make more sense of it than us.”

I simply opened the door wide, giving him room to come through. He smiled gratefully, sticking two fingers in his mouth and giving a piercing whistle that immediately got his werewolf friend's attention.

It was some kind of signal, because Scott climbed out of the Jeep, jogging across the grass of my lawn until he was at Stiles' side, a small smile on his lips. “Hey Jules,” he said politely.

“Scott,” I greeted him, watching as he waited for Stiles to make the first move, stepping over the threshold and into my house. I wondered if it scared them; wandering into the belly of the beast?

I shut the door quietly after them, turning on the lights as I went. Stiles led the way through to the kitchen, immediately opening the cupboard and pulling out a pack of Oreos, ripping open the cardboard packaging and stuffing one into his mouth, holding it out to Scott. The wolf hesitated, thrown by the way Stiles had just helped himself. I nodded for him to eat, telling him I didn't care. It wasn't as if I had the Oreos there to eat myself.

“So, what happened that was so important it warranted a visit into the lion's den?” I asked lightly as they took seats at the bench, facing me where I leant back against the sink.

“So we were skating, having a great time, I mean Lydia was holding my hand – I mean, sure, it wasn't exactly for romantic reasons, but there was still skin-on-skin contact-” Stiles cut himself off when he caught sight of my flat expression, wincing to himself. “Uh, right, I'm getting off topic,” he allowed. “Anyway, everything was fine, then suddenly Lydia was on the ground, screaming at nothing on the ice.” He frowned as he chewed thoughtfully on a cookie. “She sounded terrified.”

“And you want me to tell you why,” I finished, and Scott nodded, dipping his hand into the box for another Oreo. “Sorry to say, boys, that I have no idea.”

The boys deflated, disappointed I couldn't tell them more. I wasn't sure why they thought I had all the answers. _Old_ didn't necessarily mean _wise._

“But if I had to guess, I'd say it has everything to do with the reason she didn't turn or die from the alpha's bite,” I offered, and the perked up at the tidbit of information I'd given them.

“Do you know of anything that would cause it?” pressed Stiles hopefully. “Surely you've seen something like this before.”

“Afraid not,” I replied apologetically. That wasn't strictly true – I'd seen people survive bites intact, and I'd seen people scream at nothing or experience visions, but both at the same time? It was fair to say these were special circumstances, ones I'd never encountered before.

“So, no theories?” asked Scott defeatedly.

I decided to lie. I didn't want to go around accusing the girl of being a succubus or banshee or kitsune. No, it was better if I kept my theories to myself until I had something more concrete. No good ever came from being a gossip.

“No theories,” I said, and the boys sighed in defeat, simultaneously shoving another Oreo in their respective mouths.

* * *

“Do you wanna try making out for a second? Just to see how it feels?”

“What did I just walk into?” I interjected lowly. Stiles whipped around to stare at me with wide eyes. Scott rolled his eyes, shoving his friend gently to the side. “Is there something I should know?” I tried again, this time a small teasing smirk finding its way onto my red lips.

“Ha, ha,” Stiles laughed sarcastically, only making my smirk widen.

“It's okay, Stiles,” I assured him teasingly. “Who hasn't had gay thoughts, right?”

He scowled at me, and I met Scott's eyes with amusement. “Listen,” said Stiles sternly, becoming serious in an instant. “Have you seen Boyd?”

I was filled with confusion at the question. “Who the fuck is Boyd?” I asked, admittedly rather indelicate, but I never said I was anything but. Stiles sent me a flat look, unimpressed by my oblivious response.

“He's a student here. We think he's going to be Derek's third beta,” Scott interrupted before I could snap back in response. I turned my eyes to him, noting the concern on his face. “I'm gonna go check out the ice rink. Stiles is going to his house.”

He paused, waiting for my input. “I guess I'll tag along with Jimmy Olsen over here,” I said flippantly, gesturing to Stiles over my shoulder.

Stiles nodded obliviously, before my thinly veiled insult finally sunk in. He blanched, wheeling around to fix me with an incredulous stare. “ _Jimmy Olsen_?” he asked with narrowed eyes. “As in Clark Kent's human and entirely un-extraordinary best friend?”

“That'd be the one,” I chirped with a goading smirk.

Stiles snorted. “How do you even know who that is? I thought you rejected all things modern.”

“Modern? Superman's been around since the 30's, you moron,” I scoffed. “And I don't reject _all_ things modern!”

“Is that so?”

“I talk to you, don't I?”

Scott had had enough of our banter. “Enough,” he barked, though not unkindly, each hand coming to press against our respective shoulders. “We're wasting time,” he said with more tact. “We need to find Boyd, and we need to do it as soon as possible.”

“He's right,” Stiles said. Then, almost as an afterthought, he reached down and grasped my hand, using it to tug me down the hall in the direction of the main exit. I could have dug my heels in and refused to move, but that would be counterproductive. I let him lead me, his skin hot and dry against my own. “Call when you find something!” he yelled back to Scott, causing a passing elderly teacher to scowl in disapproval.

We burst out into the daylight and I winced against the glare of the sun, reaching up a hand to block its light from my sensitive eyes. Stiles pulled me towards his Jeep, letting go of my hand to scramble for his keys. We slid into the car and Stiles peeled out of the parking lot with a screech of rubber against asphalt.

“What's the plan, exactly?” I asked after a pause as I watched him concentrate on the road from the corner of my eye. “If we find him in time, I mean,” I clarified when he didn't answer. “If Derek gets to him first and gives him the supernatural sales pitch, what can _we_ possibly say to convince him he shouldn't become a werewolf?”

Stiles was silent, but I could tell he was pondering my words.

“He's kind of a loner, right?” I continued, absently toying with the daylight ring on my middle finger, the lapis lazuli stone sparkling in the sunshine streaming in through the window. “Something tells me he's going to be interested in an offer of super senses and advanced strength. Humans dream about this sort of offer – they just don't realise the cost it comes with,” I finished in a low murmur.

Stiles was still quiet beside me, and I wondered not for the first time what was going through that head of his.

“If you had the chance to do it all over again,” he began softly, the sound contradicting to the way he frantically flew across the road in a rush to get to Boyd's house. For a moment I was concerned. If we were in a crash, I'd walk away without a scratch. Stiles, however? Who knew what kind of damage he could inflict on himself? I kept my mouth shut despite my worries. I wouldn't bring it up unless the recklessness became something of a bad habit. “Would you?” he asked, bringing me back to the conversation at hand. “Would you still become a vampire if you got the choice?”

And wasn't _that_ a loaded question. Now it was me who was silent, wondering what to say; did I tell him what he wanted to hear, or did I tell him the truth?

“Being like this wasn't even my choice in the first place,” I finally said, staring out the window, struggling to push images of soulless blue eyes out of my head. Stiles' heart stuttered loudly and my gaze snapped to him in alarm. His fists were curled so tightly around the steering wheel that his knuckles had turned white, and his features had rearranged into a furious glare, the likes of which I hadn't expected.

I wasn't sure what was wrong.

Perhaps admitting I hadn't chosen this life had reminded him of the brother he'd found in Scott. I felt bad for reopening his healing wounds. Tentatively I reached out until my fingers brushed the the sleeve of the red jumper he was wearing, holding it in substitute for his skin. “Sorry,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say.

“Don't apologise,” he replied darkly, engine revving angrily below us. He was quiet for a long time but I left him to his thoughts, my hand on his arm staying in place, just so he knew I was there. “What was their name?”

I tilted my head, increasing the pressure of my hold on him, conveying my confusion. I didn't understand the question. “Whose name?”

“The person who turned you,” he elaborated. “What was their name?”

I hesitated, the name burning on the tip of my tongue. It wasn't a name that was meant to be uttered aloud, at least, not without serious consequences. It would mean nothing to Stiles. He wasn't part of my world, didn't know that there were some secrets, some _names_ , that should stay buried if you wished to live your life in peace.

“It doesn't matter,” I said, hand slipping from his sleeve. I crossed my arms over my chest, turning my gaze to the window, staring out at the passing street without really seeing it.

“Of course it matters,” Stiles spluttered, but he was prevented from saying anything more when he pulled up outside an old, one-storey house. Stiles frowned, and I could tell he wanted to keep talking, maybe press for more details. I was suddenly glad that wasn't possible. “This conversation isn't over,” he promised me, his heart slamming away in his chest as he slid from the car, all but sprinting up to the front door of the modest home.

I sighed, rubbing my temples to prevent the oncoming headache. I cracked open the door, stepping out of the jeep and reappearing at Stiles' side. For once he didn't flinch at the way I seemed to materialise from thin air, his focus on finding Boyd before it was too late.

“Boyd?” he shouted, banging anxiously at the doorframe. “Hey Boyd, it's Stiles.” There was no answer, no sounds from within the house at all. Nobody was home. Stiles ran his hands over his short hair, spinning around to pin me with a desperate look. “Isn't there something you could do?”

“Even if I _was_ in the mood for breaking and entering,” I sighed, leaning against the rough bricks of the house and tilting my head, “it's not like I could even get inside without an invitation. Besides, there aren't any heartbeats. The house is empty.”

“Come on,” he begged, apparently unhappy with my response. “We have to be sure. Besides, maybe we'll find a clue or something that can tell us where he is.”

I considered him for a beat, taking in the wide, chocolate, puppy dog eyes and the blotchy red skin that shouldn't have been as attractive as it was. With a defeated huff I slipped the bobby pin that was holding my bangs from my face out of my hair, dropping to my knees in front of the door.

“Are you seriously going to pick the lock?” he asked incredulously, and I could hear the raised eyebrow in his tone.

I tossed a frustrated scowl over my shoulder. “Would you rather I did nothing?”

He tossed his hands up, taking a large step backwards to give me room to work. “As you were.”

It was quiet for a few moments while I worked on the lock, but the peace didn't last long. The sound of footsteps hitting the soft grass of the yard behind me met my ears, and a small sniff confirmed that it was indeed a bitch, in the most literal sense. “We have company,” I grunted, tipping my heads forwards until my forehead tapped against the metal grate over the door.

“What- _ahh_!” Stiles yelped as he spun around, starting at the sight of Erica standing directly in front of him.

She giggled, eyes glued to the kid, not for a moment flicking down to glance at me. As if I wasn't worth her attention. That was werewolves for you, always treating vampires like second-class citizens, like they were any better than us. “What are you doing here, Stiles?” she asked sweetly.

“Noth-I-uh,” Stiles stammered, swallowing loudly. I sighed, slipping the bobby pin back into my pocket and standing smoothly to my feet, crossing my arms over my chest and staring impassively at the brand new beta. “I'm just looking for...uh...” he trailed off, struggling for clarity of thought.

“Boyd?” she supplied.

“Yeah. Yes. Boyd.”

“You know what you're doing right now that's kind of funny?” Stiles shook his head. “You're only looking in my eyes.”

“...That's funny?”

“Yeah,” she grinned wolfishly. “Because it's that kinda look, that you're trying not to look anywhere other than my eyes. But you want to, don't you? You want a nice long, hard, look.”

Before I'd even fully registered the anger I suddenly felt I noticed a slight sting as my own nails dug into the flesh of my palms. I stopped before I could draw blood, crossing my arms over my chest and trying to relax the tense expression I knew had come over my face.

“Not really, no,” Stiles muttered stiltedly. His heart raced in his chest.

“Oh, so it's just my eyes?”

“Yes. You have beautiful eyes.”

“I have beautiful _everything_.”

“New-found self confidence,” Stiles smiled unconvincingly. “Congratulations Erica. I should get going.”

He moved to step around her, but before he could take so much as a step her hand whipped out and shoved him back several paces. “You're not going anywhere,” she growled, and fury crashed through me like a tidal wave.

“Why not?” Stiles asked weakly.

She held up what was unmistakably a piece of engine from Stiles' Jeep, a smug, triumphant smirk on her glossy lips. “You're having car trouble,” she replied simply, rearing back her hand, preparing to smack it into Stiles' face.

But Hell would freeze over before I let her mess with Stiles.

I caught the hand with ease, stopping it inches from his skin and using her own momentum to shove her backwards. The metal object slid from her hand as she sailed backwards, ending up sprawled across the grass, blinking dazedly at the sky.

I smirked, stepping around Stiles, rolling my neck in preparation. This wouldn't be hard – Erica was new, barely a couple of days old by supernatural standards, and therefore she would be painfully easy to beat. It wasn't even a challenge.

“Jules,” Stiles pleaded from behind me, but I paid him no mind.

A cruel, indulgent, cheshire cat grin spread across my lips as I strolled down the few steps leading to the yard, floating over to Erica, who glowered up at me with that innate hatred our species shared. Tilting my head innocently to the side, I blinked at her with wide eyes. “This is going to be fun,” I jeered, something akin to dark joy filling me. My fingers ached to get underneath her flesh and elicit screams of agony from her pretty little mouth. See what she was really made of.

“Jules,” Stiles repeated, rushing forwards to wrap his hands around my upper arms, spinning me around to face him. “Stop,” he said, meeting my gaze with a serious stare of his own. It was like I was suddenly swept up in his eyes, unable to keep myself from gazing back. I could feel the heat of his hands through the sheer sleeves of my top, and it felt like he was boiling my blood from the inside.

If my heart could beat, it would have been racing.

I heard Erica scramble to her feet behind me, her shoes clicking against the ground as she fled, and I tensed, every instinct in my body telling me to chase after her – my kill was getting away.

“Jules,” Stiles said again, a small smile on his pale lips. “Come on. I'm fine, you're fine, everyone's fine,” he tried to convince me. But it was no longer about the danger she posed; now it was solely about the hunt. “How about we put the fangs away, huh?” he asked hopefully.

I hadn't even realised they'd slipped free. I blinked back at him, letting my eyes drift over the sloping features of his familiar face.

“What's going on with you?” he asked, concern shining in his whisky gaze.

It was a fair enough question, one that actually had a rather simple answer.

I didn't like people touching what was mine.

But that only further posed the question: since when was Stiles Stilinski _mine_ to claim? I took a deep breath, stopping myself from thinking too intently on that one. Instead I focused on my senses to bring me back from the boiling rage and predatory hunger I felt deep in my veins.

I sniffed, taking in the scent on mint and chocolate that always clung to Stiles, as well as the fresh earth from Boyd's yard. I could hear birds chirping in a tree to my right, and bees buzzing in the garden. I absently traced constellations into Stiles' freckles. I could feel his hands on me still, hot skin against cold, and I focused on their comforting warmth.

Stiles was my best friend. When had _that_ happened?

His hands clenched tighter around my arms, and I blinked again, noticing the frown on his face.

“Sorry,” I apologised immediately, already regretting what I didn't know I'd done wrong.

“What?” he asked in surprise. “No, I was just thinking...” he trailed off, glancing down at where his fingers were curled around my upper arms. Those adorable red blotches appeared on his cheeks and he cleared his throat, pulling his hands away like I'd burned him. I raised an eyebrow impassively, and he awkwardly tugged at his collar. “Why would Erica run?” he continued, eager to keep the subject off of himself. “Unless she had somewhere to be...”

“The ice rink,” I finished with a sinking feeling in my gut. “Scott,” I said, something that wasn't quite fear gripping my heart.

“Go,” Stiles urged me.

But I hesitated, casting my eyes over to the jeep that sat idle on the curb. “But how are you going to get home?” I asked him, brow knitted into a frown.

“I'll be fine,” he huffed with a roll of his eyes. “Just hurry up and go,” he insisted, making a shooing motion with his hands.

With a final nod, I reluctantly turned and disappeared from sight. I had a general knowledge of where the ice rink in town was located. I'd walked passed it once or twice on my way to the small number of bars collected on the edge of town.

It was easy enough to find, tall and looming in the dusk air. The front door was unlocked, something I thought may have been almost _too_ convenient.

Either way, I slipped through the chilled entrance, feet making no sound on the floor as I padded across the carpet, passed the ticket office and into the rink. The sounds of fighting met my ears; fists hitting flesh and young, temperamental wolves growling. I moved soundlessly through the room, pausing at the entry to the ice rink.

Everyone was too distracted by the fight to notice me even with their heightened senses; half the group were already unconscious, sprawled pathetically across the ice. Derek was laying into Scott, who was just barely keeping his head above water. He was still young, no match for a beta like Derek.

I knew I had to intervene. I'd only known Derek for a few weeks at most, who knew if he was actually capable of murdering one of his own?

It wasn't easy to sprint across the ice, but I managed to keep from falling on my face. Derek heard me coming and spun around, arm held back, prepared to slam into my nose.

I ducked the attack, the ice making it easy to slide away from the blow. I crouched down in front of a dazed Scott, my position defensive as I let out a furious, protective snarl. The alpha's eyes glowed ruby red as he bared his teeth at me in warning. I copied the action, flashing my own fangs as blood flooded the whites of my eyes, the irises turning an inky, lifeless black.

As if ordered, we both attacked in the same moment, surging forwards with all the ferocity of wild animals. I was surprised when he didn't immediately go in for a bite, and it occurred to me that he wasn't actually intending to kill me, or _anyone_ for the matter.

He was making a statement, standing his ground, like a dog snarling to assert its dominance. But he wasn't the only one who had something to prove.

Scott was my friend, and nobody was allowed to hurt my friends.

Derek swiped at me, fingers curled so his claws were extended. I dodged it, swinging under his arm and landing a kick to his side. He grunted and spun around to hit me, but I'd already moved, landing a punch to his throat.

I hadn't been able to fight Peter like this because he was the worst kind of alpha: one who had fully shifted into a giant, mutated wolf. Luckily for me, Derek was just a regular werewolf, one who stayed half shifted, making him much easier to take in a fight.

He managed to slam his hand into my gut at the same time as I jammed my fist into his jaw. It clicked and I caught a wince before he covered it, a hardened glare taking over. He punched me in the stomach again, and this time it hurt, my kidneys aching in protest. I growled, darting out of the way of his next hit.

I realised it was an exceptionally even fight. He was a whole lot stronger, but I was a hell of a lot faster. We were too evenly matched, particularly for a fight without intent to harm.

Like an unspoken thing, neither of us were drawing any blood. We were avoiding tearing skin, keeping things perfunctory and external only. I could easily end the fight, shove my hand through his chest cavity and take ahold of his heart, and he could just as easily sink his teeth into my arm and be done with me. But I didn't, and neither did he.

As though there'd been some kind of invisible signal, the both of us stopped fighting, falling still and silent, teeth on full display, a warning not to cross a line we couldn't take back.

It was quiet as we stared at each other, but neither of us made a move. I wondered what the call to stop had been, wondered why he wasn't finishing this. Abruptly his eyes stopped glowing, and he began to walk backwards away from me, refusing to turn his back on me.

Smart boy.

The kid that I figured must have been Boyd jumped down from where I'd barely noticed him on the ice machine, and as he walked past me I caught a whiff of fresh blood, along with the faintest trace of dog. Then I knew we were too late. It was over.

“Don't,” Scott grunted, unaware that we'd failed. In his mind, we still had hope. I grit my teeth against the reality. “You don't want to be like them,” he insisted, still panting with exertion from his own fight.

“You're right,” Boyd replied, pausing beside him. He lifted his jacket, revealing a deep, bloodied bite mark on the otherwise smooth skin of his side. Scott looked away, defeated. “I wanna be like you,” said Boyd proudly.

And then they retreated, and I reluctantly let them leave, waiting until I heard their footsteps disappear completely before appearing at Scott's side. I crouched down next to him, hands held awkwardly above his chest, not sure what to do with them. I wasn't a doctor, at least, not the kind who knew anything about werewolf injured.

“Are you okay?” I settled for asking, gently prodding at the large bruise forming on his left cheekbone. Scott hissed in pain and I drew back, already regretting the decision.

“We need to get somewhere safe,” he said, struggling to push himself up onto his elbows. I didn't think he should move, but I moved down to help him up anyway, since I doubted he'd listen to my advice. I wrapped an arm around his waist, using my enhanced strength to lift him up and drag him carefully across the ice.

“So, where to?” I asked him as we walked. Where did he think we'd actually be safe? Where did he think our enemies couldn't reach us?

“The animal clinic,” he replied around a wince of pain. “There's someone I need to see.”


	18. All of Me

_What would I do without your smart mouth?_

_Drawing me in, and you kicking me out_

_You've got my head spinning, no kidding, I can't pin you down_

_What's going on in that beautiful mind_

_I'm on your magical mystery ride_

_And I'm so dizzy, don't know what hit me, but I'll be alright_

All of Me – John Legend

* * *

I took a drag of the chemicals from my cigarette, holding it in my lungs for a long moment before blowing it out in perfect smoke rings. With my free hand I pulled the dated cell phone from my back pocket, turning it on and scrolling through my limited number of contacts until I found Stiles' name.

“ _Hey,_ ” the kid answered, and I heard the distinct sound of heavy machinery in the background of the call.

“Hey,” I responded, flicking the ash from the tip of my smoke. “Where are you? Did you make it home?”

“ _I got towed to the nearest garage_ ,” he told me, sounding tired. “ _I'm still here. The jackass mechanic is totally screwing me over_ ,” he paused, considering, “ _is it still screwing me over if I know it's happening_?”

“He's over-charging you?” I frowned. I received only a frustrated sigh in response. “Want me to come and compel the price down for you?” I offered, stepping out of the way of an older businessman walking into the gas station I was stood outside of to pay for his gas. I'd only stopped to get a new pack of cigarettes after dropping Scott off at the animal clinic. I'd been planning to head straight home, but my need to make sure Stiles was okay had overtaken those plans rather quickly.

“ _Would you_?” the human asked hopefully over the line, and I couldn't help but smile. What was the point in having a vampire for a friend if they couldn't compel you out of a bill every now and again?

“Where are you?”

“ _The garage on the corner of Elizabeth and Burke_.”

“I'll be there soon,” I told him, and he muttered his thanks before I hung up. I took my time finishing off my cigarette, glancing up at the sky, frustrated that I couldn't see any stars thanks to the harsh fluorescent lights of the gas station. That was one thing I hated about these modern times: all of the unnecessary light pollution.

I headed back out onto the road, walking through the back streets until I got to the address Stiles had given me. I took my time, strolling along the footpath as I got closer to my destination, puffing on my smoke.

I hadn't been expecting a parade of police officers and paramedics to be stationed outside of the garage, and when I caught sight of two men wheeling a covered corpse out on a gurney, my dead heart dropped into my stomach like a stone.

Being what I was, I couldn't feel the cold, but I could have sworn I felt an ice cold terror trickle throughout my frozen veins. My breath caught in my throat, and my eyes began to burn with panic.

“Stiles?” I called, but my voice came out as barely more than a choked whisper. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Stiles?!” I yelled, desperation colouring my tone. People turned to stare at me, but I shoved through the gathered crowd and passed the policeman guarding the barricade, ignoring his indignant squawk. “ _Stiles?!_ ”

“Jules?”

I whipped on my heel, eyes searching wildly until my green irises locked with his brown ones. Relief flooded me so strongly that I had to bite my tongue to stop the stinging in my eyes.

Uncaring that I could have exposed myself I rushed towards him at top speeds, all but slamming into the kid where he stood with his father beside the back of an open ambulance. I breathed in his minty/coco-y scent, burrowing my face in his collarbone and throwing my arms around his neck. All thoughts of his appetising blood were gone, replaced only with relief at seeing him alive and okay.

His heart stuttered in his chest and his arms hesitantly came up to wrap around my waist, squeezing me back tightly. He was firmer than I'd expected, arms strong and thick around me, making my insides sing.

“I thought...” I trailed off into his shoulder, barely able to finish the thought.

“I'm fine,” he assured me quietly, chin resting awkwardly on the crown of my head.

I didn't let go, staying exactly where I was, not wanting to leave his side for even a second. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, breathing in his scent once more. Somewhere in the back of my mind I registered the dull ache of thirst in the back of my throat, but I was easily able to ignore the hunger; my relief at seeing him safe overshadowing my need for blood.

Finally, after an eternity that was far too short, I pulled back, my hands slipping up to cup the warm back of his neck, my eyes assessing him carefully, looking for any hint of damage.

“What the hell happened?” I demanded once I was sure he was unharmed, meeting his chocolate gaze. “I only spoke to you fifteen minutes ago. What could have possibly happened in that time frame?” I asked, genuinely bewildered.

Stiles opened his mouth to reply, but then turned to look at his father instead, who watched us with curious eyes. I awkwardly let go of my hold on his son, Stiles' hands slipping from their place at my waist. He cleared his throat, looking up at his dad pointedly. “Can I go now, please?” he begged.

“Sure,” his father agreed, crossing his arms over his chest, “but not in your Jeep. I'm gonna have to impound it. Sorry kid, evidence,” he looked up at me, smiling politely. “Nice seeing you again, Juliet. Make sure he gets home safe?” he asked gently. Stiles didn't look happy with his father's words, but I felt a warm glow at them, nodding in solemn promise. “See you at home,” he nodded to his son, turning to head back to the building.

“Right, well at least make sure they wash it,” Stiles called after him petulantly.

Stiles sighed, rubbing a hand over his short hair. I grabbed his arm gently, moving him out of the rain and under the cover of an overhang, away from curious ears. “What happened?” I demanded again, intent on getting answers this time around.

“It was that lizard thing,” he told me with a paranoid glance over his shoulder.

My eyes widened as I stared at him. “And it left you alive?” I asked tightly, looking over him once more, just to be sure nothing was broken. I couldn't smell blood, so it hadn't attacked him at all. Why did it leave him unscathed?

“Clearly,” Stiles drawled dryly.

I shot him an unimpressed glare, and he rolled his eyes back at me. “Details,” I ordered him sternly, crossing my arms and clicking my jaw, telling him exactly how stubborn I was going to be about this whole thing.

Stiles sighed but complied, running me through what had happened, telling me how he'd been drugged by something, temporarily leaving him paralysed and forcing him to watch as one of the cars in the garage crushed the mechanic to death.

I reached out a touched his arm when his eyes dropped to the floor, reliving the experience. I was reminded then of how very young and innocent he was, so very pure, untouched by the horrors of the world. I thought suddenly that if he knew even a fraction of the things I'd seen, he'd never be able to look me in the eyes again.

Stiles' other hand lifted to cover mine, squeezing gently before we both let go. “Do you need me to walk you home?” I asked, frowning as I suddenly wished I had a car. Perhaps I should have invested in one? I typically preferred to walk around town, but if a situation like this came up again it would be good to have one to fall back on.

Stiles shook his head. “I called Scott. He's picking me up in his mom's car.” He paused, tucking his hands into his pocket, glancing out into the light rain. “You could come with me,” he suggested with a forced sort of casualness that made me suspicious.

I stared at him, confused and unsure. But then I understood.

He didn't want to be alone tonight. It made sense, I supposed. He _had_ just seen a man killed by a giant lizard. If I were human, perhaps I wouldn't want to go home to a dark house either.

“Why don't you come to my house?” I offered, hands twisting together in front of me. “We could make pancakes for dinner, and I could show you old photos of me from the past few centuries?”

He hesitated, and I was just considering taking back the offer before he finally spoke. “That'd actually be great,” he said, and I smiled, inexplicably relieved. Before I could say anything else he nodded to the road where a black car had just pulled up, a familiar teen wolf sitting in the driver's seat. “Here he is.”

I ducked out into the rain, keeping my head down as I strode towards the car. I let Stiles slip into the front seat, moving instead into the back and smiling politely at Scott through the shadows.

“You okay?” he asked his friend, apparently already filled in on the night's events.

“You were right,” Stiles replied, pulling his hoodie tighter around him and frowning out the window. “He's not like you. His eyes were almost like, reptilian. There was something about him...”

“What do you mean?” Scott questioned, shifting in the chair to look at him.

“You know like when you see a friend in a halloween mask, but all you can actually see are their eyes, and you feel like you know them, but you can't figure out who it is?”

Scott glanced over at me, and I looked back with a concerned frown. “Are you saying you know who it is?” he asked, staring at Stiles in surprise.

“No,” Stiles replied tersely. “But I think it knew me.”

Scott exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to clear it. “I can't deal with this right now,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and bumping his forehead on the steering wheel. He took a deep breath, sitting up straight and putting the car into gear, pulling away from the crime scene and out onto the main road. “Straight to your place?” he asked easily.

“No, actually,” Stiles replied meekly, leaning forwards to turn up the heat and adjust the vents so they was aimed at him. Scott looked at him in confusion. “Uh, Juliet's place.”

“Oh?” he said with a furrowed brow before his eyes popped open widely. “ _Oh_!”

Stiles wasn't happy with his reaction, he leant across the cab and smacked his best friend upside the head. “Don't,” he hissed, cheeks turning that same, blotchy red.

“What?”

“You _know_ what.”

“But-”

“No.”

“I just-”

“ _No!_ ”

“Red light,” I said detachedly, staring out the windscreen as Scott hit the brakes, only just realising the lights in front of him had turned red. “You can come over too, you know,” I told him once everyone had taken a breath, “I promise not to bite.” As I said this I allowed a toothy grin to spread across my lips as I teasingly leered at him in the mirror.

“I think I'll pass,” he laughed, refocusing on the road. “I have to get home to my mom anyway. She needs the car for work.”

Not three minutes later he'd pulled up onto the curb outside my shabby excuse for a house. Stiles patted him on the shoulder in thanks before slipping from the car. I mumbled a polite thank you of my own before following Stiles' path, shutting the door behind me and watching Scott drive to the end of the street and turn left.

I walked up the drive, Stiles at my heels, the kid buzzing with nervous energy. I let him into the house, flicking on the light, the front room lighting up with a yellow glow for his benefit.

Stiles made a beeline for the kitchen and I followed, turning on the light in that room too, leaning against the threshold as he helped himself to the contents of my pantry, pulling out the ingredients for pancakes.

I figured I wouldn't be of any help in that department, and instead moved through to the living room, picking out an old jazz record and slipping it onto the turntable, the soft sound of saxophones filling the house. I kicked off my shoes, leaving them beside the couch and padding with sock-clad feet over to the hallway closet, where I dug out three old photo albums.

I wiped the dust off their old leather faces, pursing my lips as I picked them up, sliding to my feet and moving back into the kitchen. I took a seat on a barstool sitting by the bench, placing the albums down in front of me as I watched Stiles whisk the flour, milk and eggs together casually, nodding along to the music flooding the house as he worked.

I watched him silently, my chin propped up in my palm, observing him as he went about pouring the batter into the greased pan. It was all so very _human,_ and almost felt like watching an entirely different species prepare themselves a meal. “Quit staring,” Stiles muttered suddenly, refusing to lift his eyes from the bubbling batter in front of him.

I blinked my green eyes, my head tilting naturally as I continued to watch him. He seemed to feel so at home here, and a strange, unspeakable part of me _liked_ that. In the few short months we'd known each other he'd become comfortable enough with me to waltz into my kitchen and start making a meal, kicking his own shoes off and leaving them by the door as if by habit.

“Seriously, it's distracting,” he griped, flipping the pancake sloppily, some of it ending up on the stove top. “I'll clean that up.”

“Tell me something about you,” I spoke up, ignoring his pleas to stop staring. I had to watch him, I couldn't help myself. I had to figure him out. He suddenly seemed like the most fascinating enigma I'd ever encountered. A human so comfortable in the presence of a vampire? It wasn't unheard of, but it was certainly rare.

Stiles looked up at me in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Tell me something about you that I don't already know,” I repeated, sitting up straighter and curling my hands together in front of me.

“Why?”

“Because it feels like all we ever talk about is me,” I told him like it were utterly simple. “I want to know more about you. That's how friendships are supposed to work, or so I've heard.”

Stiles snorted indelicately, and I leaned forwards some more, watching him closely. “What do you want to know?”

Why he felt so at ease around killing machines. Why he reacted to the supernatural like it were something he'd been dealing with his whole life. Why he wanted to be friends with me at all.

I didn't ask any of these things, however, too afraid of what I might learn.

“Which power ranger is your favourite?” I asked. I may not have known much about pop culture in general, but I wasn't a total recluse. I figured that using what little I _did_ know might help him to open up.

He looked up at me after placing the first pancake on a plate, immediately moving to make a second one. “All the questions in the world, and _that's_ the one you ask?” I didn't reply, merely cocking my head at him. He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, and I pressed my lips together to hold back a smile. “It's the black one, by the way.”

“Favourite Spielberg film?”

“Jurassic Park, _obviously_.”

“Bowie song?”

“Tie between Space Oddity and Ziggy Stardust.”

I thought for a moment. “Star Wars character?”

He paused before whipping around to fix me with a look of immense surprise. “You like Star Wars?” he asked sharply.

I shrugged and said, “it's one of the few modern cinematic pieces I found I could get into.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered to himself, turning back to the cooking pancake. “The two hundred year old vampire watches Star Wars, and my sixteen year old best friend doesn't even know who Jabba the Hutt is. _Pathetic_ ,” he grumbled under his breath, forgetting I could hear every word. I smirked as he dished up a fourth pancake, then turned the stove off, leaving the bowl of batter on the side.

He took the plate, walking around until he sat beside me. “Come on,” he said, nudging me and shovelling a lump of syrup soaked pancake into his mouth. “Enough about me, I’m not nearly as interesting as you,” he snorted wryly, and although I strongly disagreed, I still complied. He reached forwards and opened the first album, peering down at the old black and white photographs inside. “Holy shit,” he muttered, leaning in to get a better look. “There’s no way that's you.”

I looked down at the photo in question with a small smile. “That’s the earliest photograph I have,” I told him, eyeing the faded picture, observing the ghastly frills on the dress and the ugly bonnet I’d been wearing.

“From 1927?” he asked, glancing up at me for a brief second before peering at the picture. “That’s when the camera was invented.”

“1930,” I responded, lips twitching up at the random fact he'd pulled from that clever brain of his. “I used to own several painted self portraits, but I had to leave them behind when I left Germany.”

He turned the page, excitedly peering at the other pictures as he distractedly shoved another forkful of food passed his lips. “Who's that?” he asked, pointing to a photo of me standing with an older man with shaggy hair and a strong jawline.

Something deep in my gut twisted, pain echoing throughout my skeleton. I didn't want to think about him, or have anything to do with him at all. “An old friend,” I muttered darkly, glaring down at the grey eyes that I knew in reality were a piercing blue that seemed to stare into your very soul.

“Doesn't sound like it,” he muttered, but thankfully he didn't question it, flipping the page again, moving towards the end of the nineteenth century. “Who're the kids?”

I glanced down at the photo of me standing in a field, a baby in my arms and two toddlers by my ankles. “My descendants,” I answered him with a fond smile. He looked up at me sharply, blinking in surprise before he turned back to the picture. “They thought I was just a distant cousin, it was the only way I could be a part of their lives without compulsion.”

To my surprise, Stiles didn't look horrified or shocked, he only looked curious. “What were their names?”

“The baby is Cecelia, and the twins are Ebony and Jonathan. Cece grew up to be a baroness, and the twins both started families in London.”

“London?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

I glanced back up at him with a smirk. “That’s where I was born,” I admitted. “It’s where I grew up, and it’s where I died.” Stiles looked torn between fascination and sympathy. I didn’t let him say anything on the subject, not in the mood for pity. “I used to visit all the time, back when I still had family there. Now it’s just…full of too many painful memories.”

“Where’s your accent?” he asked, and I got the feeling he was trying to liven my spirits.

“Right here,” I responded in my natural accent. It was like slipping into a pair of boots, and reminded me of both simpler and more complicated times. That was the life of a vampire; endlessly complex. “I got rid of it when I went on the run. I had to get used to speaking with an American accent, or a German one, or Greek, or Australian…”

His heart rate picked up, and I listened as he swallowed thickly, blinking a fog away from his eyes and shovelling more food into his mouth. “On the run from who?” he asked around a mouthful of pancake. He knew the depths of the question, but still kept his voice light and conversational.

I hesitated, but decided I’d already gone this far. What was the harm in Stiles knowing the piece of me? “The vampire who turned me,” I told him, voice hard enough to cut diamonds.

Stiles was silent for a long moment, probably trying to figure out how to respond. “You've never told me that,” he whispered, and I turned to look with an expression of careful distance. “About how you died. About who did this to you.”

His words cut me like a knife. He made it sound like there was something wrong with me, something that needed to be fixed. I fought back my irritation, knowing that wasn’t how he meant to come across. He was human – he didn't understand the implications of his words.

“It’s a long story,” I said tiredly, taking it upon myself to flip the page. I decided a change of topic was for the best. “This is me in Switzerland in 1899,” I said, and Stiles gave a frustrated huff at my avoidance, but otherwise didn’t argue. “The man beside me is a friend of mine, Damon Salvatore,” I said, pointing at the handsome man to my right in the photograph. “We’re still in contact even today. We used to just write letters, but it became a lot easier to keep in touch with the invention of the phone.”

He pushed his way through more pages, observing them quietly, asking me questions every now and again. Soon enough he’d moved on to the next album, this one from further down my personal timeline, most appearing in colour.

I showed him Daisy and Penelope, explaining how my old friends were nurses in the war. I pointed out Gary, telling him about how he'd once jumped off the Empire State Building on a dare, and then Mark, who refused to feed on anything except goat's blood. I showed him pictures of Travis, an old warlock friend of mine who used to make it windy so girls' skirts would fly up. He laughed at my outrageous stories, asking questions, eager to find out more about my terribly long, interesting life.

I didn't let him get away with it though; I asked him just as many questions about him and his life in Beacon Hills. He told me about the time Scott fell out of a tree and broke his arm, and the time he followed Lydia around the mall, trying to work up the courage to speak with her. He laughed as he recounted the first day of seventh grade when he tripped on the stairs and gave himself a bloody nose.

It was good, and I felt better than I could remember feeling. It was as natural as breathing to spend time with Stiles, but I didn't analyse it too much, suspecting I wouldn't like what I found.

* * *

“What does a bestiary look like?”

I looked up from my novel, raising an eyebrow at the left field question. It was the day after we'd had pancakes in my kitchen, and I had reluctantly trudged my way into school that morning, griping about student responsibility.

Half a day of mindless activities later and it was lunchtime. Stiles found me sat on a bench in a far-off corner of the school, taking a much-needed break from the incessant chatter of the school's population.

“Why do you want to know?” I asked Stiles cautiously, wondering where he was going with this.

The human took a seat beside me on the bench, glancing down at the book in my hands, absently scanning the title before meeting my eyes once again. “We think the Argents might have one,” he told me, “and maybe it'll help us figure out what – and who – this lizard thing is.”

It was a solid enough plan – and by solid, I meant the only one we currently had. “I don't tend to spend much of my free time hanging around hunters,” I said dryly, and he sagged in disappointment. Realising he needed more than a wry comment, I tried again. “However, I'd suppose one would look something like a grimoire,” I offered, and he perked up hopefully.

“I've read about those,” he interjected eagerly.

“A witch's cookbook,” I told him around a small smirk, the words familiar but not my own.

Stiles looked eager for more. “So, what should I tell Allison to look out for?”

I paused, considering the question. “It'll be small, something that can be easily transported. It'll be old looking and worn out, having been in their family for generations. It's most likely to be bound in leather, and if she gets a chance to check inside, the bulk of it will almost definitely be written in Latin.”

“Got it,” he said as he pushed himself to his feet. “Are you coming to the game tonight?”

“I wasn't planning on it,” I said flippantly, already turning back to my book. Stiles didn't move, saying nothing, and I reluctantly look up to find him pouting petulantly. Sighing, I let my book drop back down into my lap. “Stiles, would you like me to come to your lacrosse game tonight?” I asked with a truly astounding amount of patience.

“I mean … only if you want to,” he said shyly.

I rolled my eyes. “You're impossible.”

Stiles grinned, wide and happy, as he spun on his heel and headed for the exit. “I'll see you there!” he called to me over his shoulder, and I couldn't help the way I smiled down at the words on the page in front of me, not really seeing them at all.

Time seemed to pass slowly after that. I didn't pay attention in class, but then again, when did I ever? I was only there to try and gain some semblance of structure to my undead life. To try and be a good little vampire who didn't spend her time chewing on necks in dark and dangerous places. Was it working? Well, it had been a long time since I'd eaten anybody, so I'd say I'd been successful so far.

I hung around school after the final bell rang, remaining in the quiet library, re-reading Pride and Prejudice just for something to pass the time. The room emptied until finally I was the last person there, curled up in the corner, nearly at the end of the book. Once I figured it had gotten late enough I shoved the book into my bag, dropped it off at my locker so I wouldn't have to carry it around all night, and made my way out to the field.

“So?” I asked casually, taking a seat beside Stiles on the bench where he spent every game – I wasn't sure if it was because he was an awful lacrosse player or because the coach was just a prick. Stiles jumped in surprise at my sudden appearance, turning to glare at me without any real heat. “What's the plan?” I pressed impatiently.

He blinked. “Plan?”

“To retrieve the bestiary,” I reminded him. His eyes widened as he realised what I was talking about. I shot him my most exasperated look. “You _do_ have a plan, don't you?”

“Of course we have a plan,” he responded, affronted at the suggestion. I stared at him expectantly. “Okay, Allison's going to get the keys to her grandfather's office. I'm going to take them, find the bestiary, then get the keys back to her so she can get them back to _him_ before he realises they're missing.”

I frowned, utterly unimpressed. “Right off the bat I can think of eight different ways this can go horribly, horribly wrong,” I told him dryly.

“Well, you weren't around for the planning process,” he sniffed as if that won the argument. I rolled my eyes, begrudgingly amused by his childish huffing.

“Hey – Cooper!” Coach yelled, storming towards us with a petulant look on his lined face. “Lacrosse players only,” he barked like it meant anything to me, “you can't sit here.”

“Yes, I can,” I replied without missing a beat, tilting my head back and letting my eyes catch his. His expression flattened out, going distant and numb as he sank under my thrall.

“Yes, you can,” he repeated tonelessly, hypnotised in the way only a vampire could achieve. I blinked, breaking the connection. Coach scratched his head, dazed and confused, before shaking it off and moving over to the edge of the field, returning to screaming at the players on the field.

“That will never _not_ be awesome,” Stiles mumbled to me, unabashedly impressed, and I bumped my shoulder against his in acknowledgement. “Can you sit sideways and keep an eye on the Argents?” he asked suddenly, watching the people on the grass scramble for the little white ball like their lives depended on it. “I'd do it, but something tells me you'll be a lot less conspicuous about it.”

I threw one leg over the bench so I was straddling it, facing Stiles but able to clearly see the elderly hunter in my peripheral vision. Stiles and I were quiet for most of the game, him watching the players while I watched our targets. Finally, Allison managed to get the jacket off her grandfather, and I watched her slip the keys from her pocket.

“It's a go,” I muttered to Stiles under my breath, head still tilted innocently in the direction of the game.

Stiles stood up immediately, turning to leave. But he suddenly paused, glancing down at me with a frown. “Aren't you coming?” he asked quietly.

“It'll look suspicious if we both leave,” I replied, and seeing my point, he nodded, slipping past Allison and smoothly taking the keys from her outstretched hand.

I watched the game, waiting impatiently for Stiles to return. Who knew what could go wrong? What if the old man had sensors or cameras or something that would alert him to Stiles' presence in his office? Ten minutes passed, and I found I couldn't stomach the anxiety. I was too worried, I could barely even focus on moving my shoulders up and down to imitate human breathing.

With an agitated huff I stood to my feet, tucking my hands into the pockets of my jacket and slipping silently through the cheering crowd. I told myself that I was just focused on the mission, that it had nothing to do with actual _concern_ for the human boy.

But, much to my irritation, I hadn't even made it to the front doors of the school before I found him, decidedly not focused on the plan. Stiles was leaning into the window of a car, talking quietly with a familiar head of red hair. I scowled, uncaring about the girlish sobs drifting out from the car.

“Stiles?” I drawled to announce my presence, crossing my arms over my chest and shooting him my most annoyed look. He spun around so fast it was like my words had burned him. He winced as he saw me, and I felt a curl of satisfaction at his chagrin. He nodded his head meekly, leaning back through the window to talk quickly to the crying girl within.

“Can you just give me five minutes?” Lydia shot him an annoyed glare that might have even rivalled my own. “I know, I'm sorry...just stay here and continue crying – or _not_ crying, if you want. Whatever works for you. Just stay here and I'll be right back, and then we can talk. About anything, yeah? Okay? Just five minutes-”

I'd had enough of his rambling. I reached forwards, grabbing onto his arm and tugging. He let out a yelp, having no choice but to let me drag him into the building. I let go once we were through the doors, his sneakers squeaking in the hallway.

“Dammit,” he grunted as he jogged reluctantly in the direction of the principal's office. “That was my _shot_. Right there, that was my _window_!”

I rolled my eyes, exasperation like electricity licking at my dried up veins. I got the feeling I was meant to say something encouraging, and hurriedly searched my mind for something that seemed fitting.

“If it's meant to be, there'll be another window,” I told him, just a little awkward. I pointedly ignored the sour feeling curdling in my gut, like it was full of the blood of a cancer patient.

“Yeah,” Stiles huffed, not sounding at all convinced. I did a good job of convincing myself I didn't care. We reached the office and he immediately lifted the keys, taking three tries until he got the right one, sliding it into the lock and pushing his way into the room.

We instantly set to work. I moved over to the bookshelves along the wall while Stiles rummaged through the desk, muttering to himself as he searched. “There's nothing here,” I said after a long few minutes, knowing that with each passing second we were moving closer to getting caught. The last thing we needed was for me to have to kill someone to get us out of trouble.

Stiles pulled out his phone, quickly typing out a text as I continued searching. I was already sure there was nothing here. I supposed it made sense – why would a seasoned hunter keep something so important somewhere a bunch of curious teenagers had access? I knew that if it were me, I wouldn't make such a juvenile mistake.

I heard footsteps in the hall, quickly approaching our location. I could tell by the weight of the steps and the low click of high heels that it was a woman and definitely not grandpa-Argent. The tart scent of wet dog told me who it was, and I scowled, annoyed before she'd even appeared.

“Incoming,” I muttered to Stiles, pulling out a book, uninterested as I scanned the title, then tossed it back on the growing pile behind me.

Stiles froze, heart stuttering with fear. “What?”

But she'd already arrived. “Hello Stiles.”

Even with my warning the kid still flinched, grasping his chest as if to keep his heart in its place and taking a deep breath to calm himself. “Erica,” he said once he'd calmed down, an annoyance in his voice that I shared.

“Listen, princess,” I said condescendingly, turning from where I was perusing the bookcase, a dead look of warning in my sharp eyes. “We're completing a time-sensitive task right now, so why don't run along back to your little boy alpha?”

Erica's lips curled back at my jibe. “Yeah,” Stiles added, trying to help but coming up with nothing to add. I just barely kept from rolling my eyes.

“My 'little boy alpha',” Erica said around a smirk, as if unaffected by my glib attitude, “would like a word with you.”

“And if we don't?” Stiles asked bravely. Before I could move, her hand snapped out, grabbing Stiles by the ear. The human yelped in pain, trying to flinch away, but her grip was tight and unyielding and he winced at the tug on his ear.

“Then I'll rip your ear off,” Erica said with a saccharine smile that I desperately wanted to tear off.

“But then everyone will be like, 'why's he walking round without an ear?'” Stiles argued, giving another wince as she tugged at him roughly. “And do you really want to have to answer that question?” he wheezed.

My hackles were raised. I wanted to attack, remove Stiles from her grip and hide him away somewhere she'd never be able to reach. But I couldn't overplay my hand. To react would tell her I had a weakness for him, and as far as I was concerned, that was utterly unacceptable.

“What does your alpha want?” I interjected, before Stiles could say anything even more stupid and dig his grave any deeper.

Erica smirked again, and my teeth ached with the need to tear into her jugular and end her pathetic excuse for a life. “Just to talk,” she told me smoothly.

I narrowed my eyes, assessing her carefully, but her heartbeat was steady and her expression didn't so much as twitch. “Okay,” I said, ignoring the look of panic that Stiles sent my way. “But let Stiles go,” I added, the words the furthest thing from a request, “or I'll rip off _your_ ear and shove it so far down your throat that you'll be able to hear your own digestion system.”

Erica didn't look scared, exactly, but she could tell my words weren't just an idle threat. If she crossed me I'd happily follow through, and she knew it.

Stiles was almost giddy as she let him go, taking a large step in my direction. I felt relief at having him so close by, but refused to acknowledge it. Erica glowered at me like she were trying to think of all the ways she could make me suffer, but in the end she still turned and lead the way out of the office.

Stiles glanced at me as if asking whether we were going to follow her or make a break for it. Although reluctant, I knew it was better to face the music than prolong it further. Wolves were unpredictable – they had no sense of boundaries. The last thing I needed was for them to encroach of my personal space and force me into killing one of them. That would just be messy for everyone involved.

The she-wolf led us through the halls of the school and into the pool centre. It was a strange place for an interrogation, but I didn't pretend to understand the inner workings of an alpha's mind.

The water of the pool gave the room a delightfully creepy, aqua glow. The latest alpha stood in front of us, a basketball in his grasp. I recalled a time we'd been on the same side – as it were – working together to destroy his uncle. Now we were on opposite teams, and even I had to admit that I wasn't entirely sure why.

“Stiles,” Derek greeted us with faux politeness, a calculating glint to his eyes, “Juliet.”

“Derek,” Stiles muttered with a scowl, eyes shifting across the room. He was checking for the exits, I realised, and I felt a surge of something that wasn't _quite_ affection in my gut.

“So, your new little bitch got us here,” I drawled, feet planted to the floor, ready to launch into attack at the smallest trigger, “now talk.”

Derek looked less than pleased by my demand, but he probably sensed arguing was pointless and just a waste of everybody's time. “What'd you see at the mechanic's garage?” he asked Stiles, blessedly straight to the point.

Stiles tensed as the attention slid to him. “Ah, several alarming EPA violations that I'm seriously considering reporting,” he snarked, and I pressed my lips together to conceal a proud smirk.

The wolves chuckled in an utterly unamused sort of way, and if I wasn't a centuries old creature of the night, maybe the sound would have given me chills. The two glanced at one another before Derek dramatically sank his claws into the material of the basketball he held. It deflated with a sad little wheeze.

“Holy _God_ ,” Stiles shuddered with terror, realising just how much danger he was in. On instinct I shifted closer to him, subtly putting myself between him and the wolves. It was an action Derek didn't miss, beady eyes flickering over us both as he smirked.

“Let's try that again,” he said with false brightness that my teeth ache again.

“I'm sorry,” I interjected, my voice laced with heavy sarcasm. I crossed my arms, pasting a dark smirk on my lips as if I were utterly unaffected by our situation. “Was that supposed to be some kind of _threat_?” I asked around my smirk, amusement sitting low in my stomach.

Derek copied the expression, tilting his head and pinning me with his harsh green stare. “You tell me,” he said smoothly.

I laughed, the sound like the purr of a tiger before it attacked. “You'd better hope for your sake that it wasn't,” I warned him, words ringing with honesty, “because if you think I won't kill you both in the most brutal way imaginable, then you've got another thing coming.”

Derek's blithe smirk transformed into something darker at my threat, and he began to slowly sink down in a crouch, preparing to attack.

“All right!” Stiles shouted suddenly, just before the situation could get out of hand. He reached forwards, grabbing my hand in his own and squeezing, pulling me back so I was standing beside him. I hadn't realised I'd moved forwards, inching closer to the alpha as I threatened to attack. “Look, the thing was pretty slick looking,” he began giving Derek exactly what he wanted, but I held back from growling at the play. “Its skin was dark – it had a pattern. I think I actually saw scales. Is that enough? Because I have somebody I really need to talk to.”

Realising his hand was still touching my own, I pulled it out from his, not in the mood for any contact. Of _course_ Lydia was his priority; it wasn't like we were in a vampire/werewolf standoff in a swimming centre of a high school, talking about lizard creatures and the climbing death toll of the town.

Derek shot him a dangerously irritated look, and Stiles quickly got the message that we weren't done just yet.

“Ugh, alright,” he groaned, equally irritated. His heart leapt as he glanced at me over his shoulder. “Eyes...eyes were yellowish and slitted,” he listed. “It has a lot of teeth and, oh, it's got a tail too. Are we good?”

My sensitive hearing picked up the faint clicking of what I thought sounded like claws tapping against metal. I froze and took a breath in, cringing at the sour smell I was met with, like chemical mixed with decaying blood. It was repugnant, and I fought back the urge to gag.

“What? Have you seen it?” Stiles asked us all eagerly. “You have this look on your face like you know exactly what I'm talking about.”

I spun around, getting my first glance at the newest untamable beast terrorising the town of Beacon Hills.

“Stiles,” I rasped, making sure to keep very, very still. Stiles, however, jumped about a foot in the air, spinning around and scrambling backwards in an effort to get away from the thing. I backed away too, careful not to take my eyes off of it for even a second.

There was a moment of standoff, all of us frozen, staring at it cautiously, waiting for its next move.

  
The lizard was the first to attack, lunging forwards with a reptilian snarl.

“Run!” shouted Derek, shoving Stiles haphazardly in the chest almost as an afterthought. Stiles stumbled backwards a few steps, the alpha ducking into a defensive crouch before the lizard, prepared for a fight.

Not about to miss out on the action I slid into a crouch of my own, red lips curling back to expose my deadly, glistening fangs.

In all the fuss, it became clear that while we thought the lizard had only made a haphazard lunge, it had in fact achieved its goal.

“Derek,” said Stiles breathlessly, “your neck.” He pointed to a small cut just below the alpha's dark hairline. My eyes narrowed in suspicious confusion. Why would it cut him there? And why so surgically? It seemed like a calculated move, one suggesting higher level intelligence. This wasn't just a wild animal – this thing had a human component in its blood.

Derek stumbled a bit, blinking as he began to lose his balance. He wasn't exactly high on my list of priorities, but I also wasn't about to let the guy die without at least trying to save him. That was what a good person would do, right? They'd save the werewolf in distress?

“Stiles, get him out of here,” I ordered in a growl just as the lizard reared back, exposing its own set of pointy teeth. I could only hope it wasn't going to try and take a bite out of me. Stiles rushed forwards and slipped an arm around Derek for support when he started to sag, steadily losing control of his body.

“Where is it?!” Stiles demanded, struggling to pull a quickly deteriorating Derek across the room, avoiding the puddles of hazardous water littering the slippery floor. To his human senses the lizard appeared to have vanished, but I knew better.

“I've got eyes on it,” I assured him, meeting the thing's yellow, slitted eyes. It darted suddenly to the left, and I was shocked by how fast it moved. I was confident I was just as fast, but that didn't mean I appreciated the levelled playing field.

From behind me, Stiles was now practically dragging a paralysed Derek across the room. I made a mental note not to get too close to this thing, however just because its venom worked on humans and werewolves, that told me nothing about how it would affect me.

“Call Scott!” Derek urged Stiles as they stumbled clumsily towards the door.

I heard Stiles scrambling for his phone, then a loud splash as someone hit the water. I spun around, stupidly taking my eyes off the creature, worried Stiles was the one in trouble. I was relieved to see it was only Derek, and moved back into position in front of Stiles. I caught the boy looking between his dropped phone and a drowning Derek. “Don't you dare,” I hissed, sensing the stupid decision he was about to make – but he didn't listen, heedlessly diving face first into the water.

I growled in frustration, watching the creature from the corner of my eye, most of my attention on making sure Stiles could at least swim. Once he and a barely-conscious Derek broke the surface, I knew I was safe to go back to fighting this thing. I was just about to throw a punch when I felt a knick at the back of my neck. I spun around and landed a kick to its side, sending it flying backwards like it weighed nothing.

I felt the skin on my neck tingle unpleasantly, and ground my teeth together against the sensation. “Bad news,” I called down to Stiles, who was just barely keeping himself and Derek afloat. “I've been cut.”

“Oh God,” the human moaned, sounding on the verge of a stress attack. That, I found, I could understand. “Whatever you do don't fall in the water!” he begged me.

I didn't need air to survive, so there was no danger of me drowning to death, but being paralysed in twelve feet of water didn't exactly sound like a party to me.

I didn't take me eyes off the lizard as it quickly righted itself, hissing at me warningly in a flash of venomous teeth. I crouched further, fingers curled into claws, letting out a feral snarl of my own. Satisfaction curled in my gut as it flinched away at the sound.

It dived at me, but I saw it coming, acting quickly as I grasped it by the throat. It let out a wonderful choking sound as I squeezed, its skin like a snake's, all silky and scaly, cold blooded and reeking something awful.

The lizard writhed in my grip, and I squeezed harder, not quite enough to kill it, but certainly enough to keep it from breathing. It scratched at my skin, claws slicing through my toughened vampire skin like it were butter. The pain was substantial, and when finally I could take no more I threw it to the floor, landing a strong kick at its side. It yelped, the sound like music to my ears.

But before I could land another blow to its head, one that would almost certainly kill it – there was a choking sound from the water. Panic seized me and I whipped around even against my better instincts. I was relieved, however again, to discover that it was only Derek, and not Stiles, that was in trouble.

By the time I'd turned back around the giant lizard was gone. It had one hell of a stealth ability if it could slip away without my knowing. I ground my teeth together in frustration.

“Where is it? Do you see it?” Stiles asked shrilly.

“No.”

“Maybe it took off.”

I shushed the two floating boys, tilting my head to listen for the sounds made by the creature. There was a roar, but it echoed around the cavernous room, making it difficult to locate.

“Can you get me out of here before I drown?” Derek snapped from the water.

“You're worried about drowning?” Stiles squawked incredulously. “Did you notice the thing out there with multiple rows of razor sharp teeth?”

“Did you notice that I'm paralysed from the neck down in eight feet of water?!” Derek shouted back irritably. I didn't have the time to roll my eyes outwardly, but I sure as hell did on the inside. We were in serious danger here, and they were squabbling like an old married couple. Honestly; men.

Stiles gave a tired sigh even as he began to drag Derek through the water towards the edge of the pool. “Stop!” I snapped. The creature had appeared in my vision, stalking around the perimeter of the pool like a shark circling its prey. I shifted onto the tips of my toes, ready to either run or attack; whichever one kept me alive longer.

“What's it waiting for?” Stiles asked, but I ignored the question. There was more at stake than his curiosity. I dipped lower into my defensive crouch, watching the lizard carefully. Its yellow, reptilian eyes shifted between me and the boys in the water, as if unsure which to attack first. “Jules!” Stiles yelled suddenly. “Don't attack it unless it attacks you first!”

I straightened, however reluctantly. He had a point. Maybe this thing was trigger-sensitive. Maybe it would wander away without issue if I let it be. I'd never been very good at sitting on my hands, but if it meant keeping Stiles safe, I was willing to try.

“Shouldn't you be paralysed by now?!” Derek asked, vaguely irked by my resistance to the venom. I smirked even as I absently clenched my hands into fists and wiggled my toes.

“Everything's working just fine,” I replied, glad for it, because right now I seemed to be the only thing keep the lizard from attacking my friend. My weight shifted from foot to foot in eager anticipation of a fight. I might have left this sort of life behind when I'd come to Beacon Hills, but _it_ found _me_.

What was I supposed to do? Ignore it? Let people die? Not today.

But apparently this thing wasn't as eager to go another round as I was. I watched with a frown as the lizard cautiously approached the edge of the pool, dipping a foot inside before flinching back and scurrying away from the edge like it had been poison rather than water.

“I don't think it can swim,” Stiles gasped. The lizard snarled, suddenly rearing forward, heading right for me, a thirst for blood in its eyes that I was all too familiar with. “Jules, get in the water!” Stiles shouted. “Don't try and fight it! Who knows what a bite could do to you?!”

But again, I ignored him.

“Come on,” I hissed with an excited grin, crooking a finger at it. “Closer,” I purred, and it roared, beginning to almost gallop towards me. I snarled, eyes turning black and blood red as I ducked its attack, slipping under its arm and landing a punch to its side.

It didn't make a sound, merely swinging around and digging its claws into my arm. I grunted, but otherwise didn't react. In retaliation I locked an arm around its throat, capturing it long enough to get a grip on its arm and jerking.

The bone snapped with a loud cracking sound, and Stiles gave a retch from his place in the water. It shrieked, the sound like a whole horde animals being tortured for sport. I writhed, tossing itself out of my grip. I thought I was in the clear – that it would go scampering back to whatever hole it had slithered out from to lick its wounds, but in a move the took me by surprise its claws came down across my thigh.

I felt them cut deep, nearly to the bone, and white-hot pain rattled my skeleton.

“Jules!” Stiles cried as I stumbled from the agony, black spots blinking in my vision. “ _Please,_ ” he begged me, and finally I knew I could deny him no longer.

I wasn't about to force him to watch me die. He didn't deserve that – and, to be fair, neither did I.

With an aggravated growl I leapt off the side of the pool, diving into the water in a move that was a lot more graceful than someone with my injuries should have been capable of making.

The water was cool and soothing against my skin, and I remained submerged for a long, peaceful minute, letting the adrenaline that had flooded my body leave as I float weightless in the water.

When I finally broke the surface Stiles breathed a noisy sigh of relief. “Dammit Juliet,” he growled, “don't you ever do that to me again.”

“Sure,” I told him placatingly, wiping the wet hair out of my face and swimming over to his side, taking Derek's weight off of him, doing my best to hold the paralysed werewolf's head above water. “You owe me,” I muttered to Derek scornfully, pain continuing to flicker along my bones, injured leg burning like a motherfucker.

“Like hell,” Derek replied in a matching sneer.

I stopped holding him up for a moment, letting his head drop unexpectedly under the water. I held him just beneath the surface for a truly petty amount of time before lifting him back up, sick satisfaction in my heart as I watched him splutter for air.

He didn't say anything else after that, probably sensing that it wouldn't take much for me to let him drown.

From beside us, Stiles was beginning to tire. “I don't know how much longer I can keep treading water,” he told me breathlessly, struggling to stay afloat.

Before I could reply his eyes light up with the light of an idea. I followed his gaze, frowning when I saw him eye the phone where it lay on the edge of the pool. I opened my mouth to tell him exactly how foolish and dangerous his plan was, only to suddenly feel a strange fatigue wash over me.

Like my limbs were suddenly full of rocks, they began to weigh down with confusion, making it difficult to tread water.

“Stiles,” I said, and my tone of voice seemed to give me away because Stiles' attention instantly snapped to me. Concern sparkled in his eyes.

“Jules?” he asked warily.

“Something's wrong,” I told him, glancing to my throbbing arm as I realised it was still bleeding rather excessively, my cold blood turning the water red.

Worse than that was the wound on my thigh. So close very to my artery, it was one of the worst possible places I could have been cut. Anywhere else it would take longer for my undead system to bleed out, but right across such a large artery…? Things suddenly weren't looking good.

“Jules?!” Stiles prompted me again, panic leaking into his voice.

I realised I hadn't yet replied. “The venom must...” I trailed off, my eyelids suddenly heavy, consciousness beginning to drift. I swallowed and tried again. “It must slow…slow the, the healing process,” I told him stiltedly.

“Oh God, you're losing a lot of blood,” Stiles said, looking faintly green at all the blood floating in the water. Still he swam towards me, wrapping a surprisingly strong, sure arm around my waist. Unwelcome black spots once more floated across my vision. “What happens when a vampire bleeds out?” he asked me anxiously.

But I didn't have the energy to answer. “Derek,” I said, nodding lethargically to the alpha, aware I was ignoring his question.

“What?” Stiles was confused, struggling to hold _me_ up as _I_ struggled to hold _Derek_ up. It was like the worst kind of symbiotic relationship. If I had the strength I might have made a pun about being called a leach, but I didn't.

“I can't...hold him,” I panted, my energy draining quicker than ever before. I didn't have time to explain to Stiles that I didn't need to breathe to survive, or that I'd be fine under the water and that he didn't have to make me a priority. His priority had to be getting out of this alive. I wouldn't allow anything less. “I'll survive,” I assured him weakly, as succinct as I could be. “Just...fish me...out later...”

“No,” Stiles argued stubbornly. The venom took hold and I lost feeling in my hands, Derek slipping from my grasp. Stiles caught him with a yelp, and I absently noted that I could smell his adrenaline. It was far too tempting. “No, Jules, come on,” he urged me desperately. “Stay conscious. Stay with me.”

Breathing was getting harder. It didn't hurt, other than the deep aching in my wounds, but rather it was like I was falling asleep. In a daze I reached forwards, just barely able to hear Stiles' pounding heart. I pressed a hand to his chest where it beat strongly, forcing my lips into a small smile before my eyes fluttered shut and I slipped beneath the surface, reality but a dream.

* * *

I was floating.

I wondered if I was dead – actually, permanently _dead_.

I didn't think I was in Hell, and there was no way I'd actually made it into Heaven. Nothing made sense. Where was I?

However, through the haze of that floating feeling, I could feel a dull ache begin to bloom. Slowly it grew, like my veins themselves were on fire, rubbing against each other like sandpaper. I couldn't move and I couldn't breathe. I couldn't even open my eyes.

Blood.

I felt it on my tongue; the warm, rich taste of freshly spilled blood. I could barely swallow, so it merely trickled pathetically down my throat. It seemed to take an eternity before I was able to move again. My hands snapped up to grasp onto whatever body part was supplying the blood, holding it tightly in fear it would slip away, out of reach.

I sighed in pure pleasure, fangs slipping from my gums and digging into the soft, human flesh. I began to drink, the blood rushing into my mouth in wet torrents, so quickly I could barely swallow it all in time. But I needed more. I needed it to never stop. I was so _hungry_.

Abruptly the source was ripped away from me, and my eyes finally snapped open, body contorting into an animalistic crouch as I let out a feral, territorial snarl.

“ _Juliet_!” a familiar voice yelled, just barely breaking through my haze of starvation.

Scott.

Stiles.

Friends.

I looked up, horror slowly dawning on me as I peered at a crouched Scott, standing protectively over a doubled over Stiles who was gripping his wrist in pain. I coughed, the blood in my system suddenly feeling disgusting, the taste it had left in my mouth going from sugar to ash in an instant.

I flipped over, bracing my hands on the cement as I retched, my mind warring with my body. Nothing came out, my system refusing to let go of the precious blood, the only thing between me and death.

Finally I fell still, collapsing onto my elbows and breathing heavily even though I had no need for the air. When I glanced up I saw we were still in the pool room, the water continuing giving off that eery glow that I had found so calming, as if nothing horrible had happened.

“Jules?” another voice said as I felt traitorous tears sting my eyes. I looked up, catching Stiles' gaze.

He didn't look disgusted, nor did he look terrified. He simply looked worried, as though I hadn't been the one to tear into his flesh and nearly drain him dry of his life force.

“I'm so sorry,” I whispered, disgusted with myself. I raised a hand to my mouth, wiping away the blood that was still left on my lips, refusing to taste even another drop, no matter how much I might have wanted to. No matter how much I needed it.

“Jules-” Stiles tried to say, but I couldn't let him finish.

I stumbled to my feet even as my joints and muscles protested, staggering from the room like a zombie, my undead body still taking its time waking up.

I went through the forest to get home, staying off the roads in case either of the boys were looking for me. I vaguely wondered what happened with the lizard, but I didn't have enough room in my head to worry about that too, thoughts too occupied by the events that had just happened with Stiles.

Sometimes it was so easy to forget what I was – especially when I was surrounded by so many _human_ friends. But the bliss never lasted long, somehow or other I always got reminded of what a monster I truly was.

I left the house dark when I got home, kicking my shoes off at the door and stumbling into the living room. Vampires didn't feel the cold, so I was confused when I felt myself begin to shiver. I figured it was psychosomatic, but knowing that didn't make it go away. I moved forwards, still so wet I was dripping onto my carpet, and threw some logs and kindle into the fireplace, lighting it up with a match then plopping in front of it, my arms curled around my knees.

I was all alone. Some days I liked that. Other days I didn't. Today I _deserved_ it.

I don't know how long I sat there. It could have been minutes, but may have even been hours. Either way, the fire was still burning brightly and the sky was still pitch black when there was a knocking at my front door. I didn't so much as flinch, uncaring that someone was out there. They could wait. Everything could wait.

“Jules,” that familiar voice called through the slab of wood. My insides twisted, my jaw clenched, and my heart dropped down into my stomach. “Jules, come on!” he begged me.

It was silent for a few moments, then the sound of the handle squeaking met my ears as somebody turned it. I cursed myself for leaving it unlocked, but I hadn't thought anybody would come looking for me, not after tonight.

Stiles padded into the room after kicking his shoes off at the door, moving around the couch and coming to a stop beside me. I didn't look away from the flames, watching them dance across the wood in the fireplace, beautiful but deadly, destroying everything they touched. Just like me.

“Hey,” Stiles said, the word falling flat. I'd expected the atmosphere to change, become more tense maybe, instead I just continued to feel hollow and numb. After a long minute of silence the human sat down beside me, his legs folding in front of him as he too watched the flames dance.

I made the mistake of breathing in, smelling the dried blood still clinging to his skin. I couldn't resist a glance down to observe the damage.

Someone had patched it up; wrapped a bandage around the wound, but not done much else. He'd still bled through the thin cloth, a large red mark staining the white fabric. I winced, the sight only hurting me further. I pressed my chin to my knees, returning my gaze to the fire.

“I'm not going to say I'm sorry.”

I blinked, not having been expecting that sentence to come out of his mouth. “You don't have anything to apologise for,” I said, voice barely audible to his dull human hearing. He leant closer to try and hear better, and I had to stop breathing again, unable to handle the scent of him so close to me.

He, also, wasn't expecting me to say that. “Aren't you angry with me for making you break your feeding rule?” he asked in sincere confusion. My chest constricted in pain, walls of my heart caving in with an undeniable guilt. He thought I was mad at _him_?

“Of course not,” I told him, my tone coming out a little harsher than intended. His heart jumped but then quickly calmed. I sighed, burying my head into the crook of my arm and squeezing my eyes shut tight. “I should be apologising to you,” I muttered softly, listening to the sound of his breathing, hoping it would help centre me.

“What for?” Again, he was genuinely confused.

“What _for?_ ” I asked incredulously, swinging around to face him properly, meeting his eyes for the first time since he'd arrived, trying not to get distracted by the way they turned into pools of melted caramel in the firelight.

“I knew what I was doing when I put my bleeding wrist to your lips, Jules,” he said in a much calmer tone, like he was simply talking about tomorrow's weather forecast. It made me sick that I'd made this his new normal. “So _what_ if you bit me? You got a bit carried away. You should see me with curly fries; man, you just _cannot_ pull me away.”

“This isn't a joke, Stiles,” I grumbled, refusing to let him lighten the mood.

“I know,” he nodded, shuffling even closer to me, our shoulders brushing. “Look, I'm fine. Really, I feel a bit tired, but that's probably just because I was treading water for so long.” I was quiet, not sure what he wanted me to say. “I meant what I said. I'm not going to apologise. If I had to do tonight over again, I'd still choose to save you.”

I didn't have a good response. Not one that wouldn't scare him, anyway. So I pushed myself to my feet, moving to the window. I heard Stiles sigh in defeat, and despite myself my lips quirked up at the corners. He was so very human.

“Have you ever listened to _Kind of Blue?_ ” I asked him softly, slipping the record out from its spot on my well-organised shelves and moving slowly over to my turntable, part of my mind worried about moving to quickly and spooking him. “Miles Davis?” I offered.

I heard his heart speed up, and listened as he took a deep breath to try and steady it, failing miserably. He didn't answer my question, but I didn't mind.

“It's a good album,” I said, flicking the switch and sighing in pleasure as the soft jazz music filled the room, like the best kind of medicine. “It's one of my favourites from the decade.”

“What decade?” Stiles whispered, as if scared to break the spell of peace that had drifted over us without our permission.

“The 50s,” I told him simply. I waited for the inevitable quip about my age, but none ever came.

I moved back across the carpet until I came to a stop beside him, hesitating only a moment before slipping back down to his level, curling up next to him. He was forcing his breaths to stay even, but he was struggling. I smiled gently, turning back to face the fire and closing my eyes, listening to the music. I felt the comforting weight Stiles' eyes on me as I gently began to hum along, but I paid him no mind.

I did a terrible thing, biting Stiles, even if it _was_ to heal myself. I wasn't even aware who I'd been feeding from, and I dreaded to think about what might have happened had I known. Would I have kept going, or would I have stopped sooner?

I fluttered an eye open and peeked at Stiles, who continued to watch me with a dazed look on his face. “This part's my favourite,” I whispered, closing my eyes again and nodding my head along with the music as it crescendoed.

We must have looked a sight, sitting in front of a dying fire as we listened to the music, both still damp from our reluctant swim, lost in our own thoughts.

I felt at peace, and I realised that, despite everything, I was happy. This boy and his loudness and his humanness…he _made_ me happy. And I never wanted to be without him.


	19. The Edge

_With each step I hold my breath_

_And I'm tangled in your spiderwebs_

_How could, how could I fall_

_And I wonder if you ever cared at all_

The Edge – Tonight Alive

* * *

“Hey, beautiful.”

I glanced up, eyeing the person attached to the shadow that had fallen over me. I took a drag from my cigarette, nonchalantly blowing the smoke out from the corner of my mouth. “Aren't you a fugitive?” I asked, crossing one leg over the other and raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Haven't you heard?” Isaac replied cheerfully, a wide smirk aimed down at me. “Jackson redacted his statement. I'm a free man...well, I _say_ man, but we both know I'm not just a man, am I?”

“Are you trying to tell me you're having a gender identity crisis?” I asked with mock-innocence, flicking the ash from the tip of my cigarette. “Because I've gotta tell you, I'm not the person you should come to with that sort of thing.”

Isaac shot me an irritated look, irked by the careless smirk I sent him. “Do you know who the kanima is?” he asked, dropping all pretences of being a decent guy and getting to the heart of the matter.

It was a fair enough question, and one I was happy to answer.

“No,” I shrugged, recalling earlier this morning when Stiles had driven us both to this hell hole called school, telling me all about how they'd figured out it _was_ a kanima after the whole 'pool' incident. Now all they had to do was find out who it actually was.

I'd been around a while, and in that time I'd heard the word kanima muttered amongst the likes of generally shady people and supernatural hunters. I'd never seen a kanima myself – they were relatively rare, and contrary to my more recent actions, I didn't tend to go _looking_ for trouble – but I knew what they were, and I felt kind of stupid for not putting it together sooner.

Vampires tended to be a little egocentric by nature. I wasn't going to apologise for it.

“Two hundred years of knowledge and experience, and all you can spare is a shrug?” Isaac growled, pulling me from my thoughts.

“I said 'no',” I pointed out, and, really, how much clearer could I be? “What more do you want from me, pup?”

His ire grew, and I could smell his adrenaline, his new, base instincts telling him to fight me – lest I kill him first. I smiled up at him, fluttering my eyelashes condescendingly.

At one point I'd liked the boy – hell, in a begrudging sort of way, I kinda still did – but it was clear he wasn't interested in maintaining any sort of friendship with me. Which was fine – one werewolf friend was enough for any vampire with even a lick of common sense.

The bell rang and I used the distraction to slide to my feet, adjusting the strap of my bag against my shoulder. “I'd _love_ to stay and chat, but I really should be getting to class,” I said, breezing past him and disappearing around the corner before he could argue.

I made my way through the school towards my locker, swapping out the textbooks I needed for the next class. I considered skipping it, but decided what with grandfather-Argent lurking around, it was probably in my best interest to keep my toes firmly in line.

“We have a serious problem,” Stiles exclaimed as he came to a clumsy stop beside me. I shoved the textbook I was holding into the depths of my locker, casting him a sidelong glance. “Derek and his little _cult_ tested Jackson with the kanima venom and he passed the test – obviously – so now they're looking for another suspect, and guess who's at the top of their list?!”

I didn't like guessing games, so I said nothing.

“It's _Lydia_!” he cried, lowering his voice as a group of freshman passed by.

I was silent, this time as if waiting for a punchline. None ever came. “Oh,” I said lamely, and Stiles flailed, unhappy with my response.

“Oh? _Oh_?!” he parroted furiously. I stared at him blankly, letting the metal door to my locker swing shut. It locked into place and I leant my shoulder against it, cocking my head at Stiles, wondering where he was going with this. “We have to _do_ something,” he hissed.

“Like what?” I asked, a genuine question. “I'm not going to watch her every minute of every day, just waiting for them to make a move. I've got better things to do,” I said honestly. He looked less than pleased by that response.

“What, like reading a book you've already read a billion times before?” he snapped, and I scowled at him in warning.

It wasn't that I didn't agree with him – I was two hundred years old, things were bound to start repeating themselves eventually – but I didn't take too kindly to being insulted, even if it was by a friend. He immediately winced, but didn't take back his statement.

“Listen, this is _importan_ t,” he tried to reason with me. I didn't understand his obsession with this girl, but I didn't understand a lot of things about Stiles – or humans in general – so I didn't think on it too much.

I sighed, sensing that he wasn't about to give this up without a fight. “Is she the kanima?” I asked plainly, without any preamble whatsoever.

“No,” Stiles said, the words instant and layered with conviction.

“Well then, what's the problem?” I asked. His expression dropped in confusion, so with a sigh I explained. “Worst case scenario? They test her, she ends up paralysed for an hour, then she goes on with her life.”

Stiles looked anything but convinced. If anything, he only looked more worried. “...But what if it _is_ her?” he asked anxiously.

I shot him a dead-eyed look. “You _just_ said it isn't.”

“Yeah, but on the off and almost impossible chance that I'm wrong,” he huffed, cracking his knuckles together absently. “What if it _is_?”

I hesitated, knowing he wouldn't like my answer; but since when should _that_ dictate what I said? I wasn't about to let his hypothetical feelings censor me. He was a big boy. He needed to hear the truth.

“Then the problem will be dealt with and no more innocents will die at the kanima's hands,” I said simply, gut tightening when he winced, as if my response had caused him pain.

He was silent for a long time but I left him to his thoughts, waiting patiently for him to gather himself. I could imagine this was hard for him. He cared for the girl – God knew why – and if it was somebody I cared about in the same position, maybe I would react the same. _Maybe._

“Would you please just help me protect her?” he finally pleaded, pulling out those large puppy dog eyes. “Just for today? We'll figure out the rest later.”

It was pointless and a complete waste of my time; and I wanted to say no, I really did. And I felt utterly weak when I found that I just couldn't.

“Just for today,” I reluctantly agreed, and Stiles lit up with happiness. “You owe me,” I warned him lightly.

“Anything,” he swore. “You name it.”

Despite myself, I couldn't help the way my own features brightened to match his grin until I was smiling along with him, green meeting brown as we locked eyes. The moment seemed to drag, and I began to count the different shades in his stare.

He opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it was got interrupted by Scott, who appeared at his side, slapping him on the back in greeting. “You okay man?” Scott asked him innocently. “Your heart's beating, like, _really_ fast.”

Stiles coughed into his fist as I carefully slipped my mask of indifference back into place. “I'm just,” he floundered, and both of us stared at him expectantly. “Just worried about Lydia.”

I grimaced at his words, already regretting the promise I'd made. “Derek isn't going to kill her without proof,” Scott assured him quietly as he led the way towards the chemistry classroom.

“Right,” Stiles nodded, “so he tests her like he did with Jackson. But when and where?”

The back of my neck prickled and my head snapped up, meeting a familiar sky blue gaze on the other side of the room. I thought I'd gotten rid of him before, but Isaac Lahey was proving to be something of a cockroach. He wasn't alone – Erica was with him, looking stunning in her new, enhanced, werewolf beauty. What a bitch.

“I think here and now,” said Scott, also catching sight of the pair of betas at the edge of the classroom.

The next moment everyone was racing forwards, trying to be the first one to get to an oblivious Lydia's side as she sat, oblivious at her desk, idly flicking through the textbook. To everyone's relief – except maybe mine, but honestly, what did you expect? – Scott and Stiles got there first, slipping into seats on either side of the redhead. Lydia cocked an eyebrow but otherwise kept silent, probably deciding that engaging with the weirdos wasn't worth the social suicide.

Erica and Isaac took seats behind the group and I made a point to elbow the former in the face as I passed, sliding into the empty seat to the left of Scott. I left a space open for Allison, and finally she slipped into the room, casting confused glances at everyone as she clearly felt the tension, wound tight like a harp string.

I filled Allison in on the situation silently, scribbling some key words down on a blank sheet of paper in front of us. She nodded, heart hammering inside her chest – although her fear didn't show on her face, something I admired.

I ignored the teacher's boring monologue, instead focusing on sketching a moon onto my paper. He must have said something significant, because every hand in the room – except from those in my new little posse – suddenly shot up. I looked up, raising an eyebrow at the room.

“Put your hormonal little hands down,” Harris sneered, and I snorted, appreciating the jibe. “We'll start with McCall.”

Allison slid across the row the second she was able, perching herself on the seat beside Lydia. I remained where I was, having no interest in moving tables. A warm body slid into place beside me, and my lips automatically tipped upwards when I caught sight the chocolate-and-mint scent of Stiles.

“You have to keep your eyes on Lydia,” he said to me from the corner of his mouth. “You'll have the best chance at protecting her if they make a move.”

Despite wanting to argue I nodded my head in agreement, nose crinkling at the thought of defending the vapid redhead. I returned to my rough sketching, ignoring Stiles' annoyed glance.

“You could at least _pretend_ to be helping me,” he said as he poured a vial of blue chemical into a beaker, and I smirked silently at his irritation. Anything we said would be overheard by the wonder twins across the room, so call me paranoid, but conversation wasn't safe.

We were silent for a moment, and though I looked distracted my attention was, as usual, on the human beside me. He looked over his shoulder, back suddenly straightening. “What?” I asked immediately, more worried than I'd freely admit.

“Lahey,” Stiles spat back under his breath, tone filled with an unusual amount of contempt.

“I wasn't aware you had a such problem with him,” I whispered back, growing bored of my doodling and dropping my pen. Instead I picked up the small vial of purple liquid that sat before me, swirling it around in its glass case idly, watching the colours twirl.

Stiles was quiet for a moment, then spoke up, surprising me completely. “I just don't like the way he looks at you,” he admitted with a frustrated huff.

Before I had a chance to ask the hundred or so questions I had in response to that, Harris called out to the class, ordering us to switch partners. Stiles sighed, putting down his beaker and pushing himself to his feet.

I was still staring after him when my new partner slid into place beside me. I glanced over at Greenberg, making no move to hide the disinterest on my face. Luckily neither of Derek's betas had gotten to Lydia, and she remained tentatively safe – for the moment.

“Hey there,” Greenberg attempted conversation, probably trying to sound smooth.

“Don't talk to me,” I snapped, and his lips obediently sealed shut.

“... _Juliet. Don't like the way I look at her, huh?_ ” Isaac's voice met my ears, grabbing my attention when I caught my name, and I cocked my head, focusing in on his conversation with Stiles while I sat back, allowing the greasy haired teen beside me to do all the work. To his credit, Stiles didn't respond, instead all I heard was the sound of glass jars clinking against each other and liquid being poured from one vial to the next. “ _Is it because you can tell that I'm undressing her with my eyes?_ ”

I knew Stiles wouldn't be able to hold his tongue for long, and a moment later he snapped, “ _doesn't it go against your very_ nature _? Or break some kind of unspoken rule? As far as I've heard, vampires and werewolves don't mix_.”

I could hear the smirk in the beta's voice as he replied, “ _something tells me Juliet likes to break the rules._ ” They were quiet for a stretch, and I felt eyes on me, so I pretended to be focused on scribbling pointlessly on my notebook. “ _What does it matter to you anyway_?” Isaac spoke up, cocky tone still very much in place. “ _It's not like she's yours. It's not like she ever_ will _be._ ”

Stiles' heart hammered away in his chest, so fast to the point where I was worried about his health. I could smell his adrenaline from where I sat, tangy and enticing, and I stopped breathing to keep myself from feeling tempted. It was hard to forget the rich, intoxicating taste of his blood on my tongue. Like the greatest meal I'd ever had, it left its mark in my head. Just the memory left me starving.

Harris suddenly called for another swap, and I happily shoved Greenberg out of his chair, gaze sliding across to Stiles, who was alone now, staring at the wood of his bench. He looked angry, maybe – I'd never been too good with the whole 'emotions' thing. That's what I got for spending the last two centuries as a bloodthirsty sociopath, I supposed.

I felt like I should say something to him, but I was more confused than ever, and didn't know what words to pick that might make him fell better.

A kid I didn't know sat down in the chair next to me, smiled politely and held out a hand to me. “Hi,” he greeted me. “I'm Alex...” he trailed off awkwardly when all he was met with was a stony glare. After a moment he turned back to the project, clearing his throat uncomfortably. I was too caught up in my thoughts to bother caring.

“Time!” Harris shouted suddenly and the dull chatter of the room fell silent. “If you've catalysed the reaction correctly, you should now be looking at a crystal. Now, for the part of that last experiment I'm sure you'll all enjoy – you can eat it.”

I pushed the container towards the guy next to me, and he looked like he wanted to argue, but stopped at the frown on my face. There was a beat, then, “ _Lydia_!”

Everyone turned to stare at Scott, who was awkwardly leant over his bench, staring in panic at the redhead. I hadn't even noticed that Isaac had slid into the space beside her – so caught up in my thoughts of Stiles. I was frustrated with myself – distraction could be deadly.

“What?” Lydia hissed, frowning at the wolf, confused.

Scott glanced around the room, and I subtly shook my head when his eyes met mine. Doing something now would only provoke Derek's bitches to more extreme lengths. Best we got this over and done with now, while we were still relatively in control of the circumstances.

“Nothing,” Scott mumbled, dropping back onto his stool and clearing his throat. Lydia rolled her eyes before taking a bite of the newly formed crystal, freshly dipped in kanima venom.

Feeling the uncomfortable, prickling sensation of unseen eyes on my back, I glanced out the window, only to catch sight of a staring Derek, his beady eyes watching Lydia like the hawk.

A warning growl slipped passed my lips, making the poor guy beside me flinch in fright, his heart hammering away in his chest as he stared at me like he was wondering whether I should be heavily medicated.

Derek's sharp ears picked up the sound, and his green gaze slid to meet my darker shade. He didn't smile smugly like I'd assumed he would when there was no reaction from Lydia other than a grimace at the taste, instead he looked nearly regretful.

I couldn't deny the facts.

The venom hadn't done anything to her, and that could only mean one thing: she _was_ the kanima.

No matter how I felt, she had to be stopped before anyone else died, but I sure as hell wouldn't be the one to end her, not if it meant Stiles would hate me forever. That was too high a price for me to pay.

So even though I knew it was _morally_ the wrong decision, I swore to the stars that I would do whatever it took to save Lydia. If only for Stiles' sake.

* * *

I snuck outside for a quick smoke break towards the end of the day. I wasn't going to admit it, but I desperately needed a break from the humans and werewolves that filled Beacon Hills High. The mixed scents of edible blood and wet dog were slowly driving me insane.

I perched on one of the tables, gladly glaring at anyone who came too close. I was surprised when Scott approached me, but he was one of the only people in the school who could do so without risking bodily harm, so I let it slide despite my need for respite.

“So, we've worked out that you're staying with Lydia and I to protect her from Derek or the others,” he told me seriously, and I arched a brow at him, displeased with his command. “We don't know when they'll attack, but it'll be soon. So we have to be ready.”

“When was this decided?” I asked snidely, blowing smoke from the corner of my lips, a frown tugging at my mouth.

He blinked at the response. “Just now.”

“And why should I?” I asked, admittedly being difficult for difficult sake.

But Scott didn't seem in the mood to verbally spar with me. “Could you please just do it? If not for Lydia, then for me?” he begged.

I said nothing, staring at him impassively.

“Fine, then for Stiles?” he asked, but I was still silent.

I refused to be manipulated into _anything_ , and I wasn't about to let him use Stiles to do it. That was a low blow from the teen wolf, one that irked me more than I would admit. Scott seemed to sense my displeasure and sighed, a hint of regret in his puppy-dog eyes.

“Look, Stiles is watching her right now, but if one of Derek's betas makes a move, you _know_ he'll only get hurt in the crossfire.”

As much as I hated to admit it, the logic of it won out. I grit my teeth in annoyance before sucking in another lungful of chemicals and fixing him with a dark look. “I'll do it,” I growled reluctantly, crushing the cigarette in my hand and dropping it to the grass. “But because I want to, _not_ because you told me I had to.”

Scott bowed his head, rightly remorseful. “I should have asked first,” he agreed.

And it was okay – he was stressed, he had a life to protect. It was a lot of weight on his little puppy shoulders. I couldn't condemn him for making a mistake. We'd all been there at one point or another. “Where is he?”

“Taking Lydia to the library,” he told me. I nodded my head, turning to leave. “Jules?” he asked, and I looked back over my shoulder. “Thank you,” he said with genuine gratitude, and I spared him a rare flash of a smile before leaving.

It wasn't difficult to find Stiles, it was almost an instinct by now to seek out his scent. I followed it through the school until I found him in a hall on the far west side of the building. “Oh good,” he breathed when I appeared, relieved to see me. “You're here.”

Lydia eyed me cautiously. I didn't doubt that her instincts were telling her I was the danger, rather than the protection. What a paradox I had become.

“What's she doing here?” Lydia asked critically, eyeing my leather pants and heavy, studded boots with distaste.

I would readily admit that I somewhat played into the stereotype when choosing what to wear – but some things couldn't be helped. Humans were less likely to talk to you if you looked like you'd cut them without blinking an eye. The dark clothes helped, made me seem threatening without actually flashing my fangs.

Plus I just looked _really_ good in black.

“She's here to help,” Stiles told Lydia, the answer vague at best, and the girl looked less than pleased by the response. Despite my inherent dislike for her, I couldn't say I blamed her.

“Whatever,” she chirped, flipping her strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder as she spun around, moving down the hall with the irritating clacking of high heels. “Are we going to study or what?”

Stiles, of course, scurried after her like a loyal pet. Rolling my eyes, I followed the pair, keeping an eye out for any sign of the alpha or his betas. It was a good enough cover, to study, but she still looked somewhat skeptical by the whole thing – or perhaps it was reluctance I was sensing. Either way, she had her suspicions.

When we reached the library, Stiles was the first to pushed through the double doors, waiting to let Lydia in first. The girl strode in, head held high. You had to admire her confidence. Stiles followed like a puppy, trying to smoothly touch her arm only to be shrugged off with an annoyed glare.

She walked through to the back of the library where Allison stood with Jackson, each trying – and failing – to look inconspicuous as they flicked through encyclopaedias.

“Well?” Lydia asked, eyes trained suspiciously on Allison, avoiding Jackson's stare. I couldn't blame her for that, either. The guy was weird as fuck. He didn't even _smell_ right. “Did you want to start with Biology or English?” Lydia questioned them tartly, putting down her handbag and reaching for one of her textbooks.

“Uh,” Stiles responded dumbly, blinking at her before switching his gaze to scanning the room. “We have to go this way,” he said finally, grabbing onto her elbow and pulling her in the direction of the fire exit.

“What?” she asked, bewildered by the strange behaviour. “We can't go out that door, the alarm will go off.”

My hand snapped out, fist slamming into the small alarm system attached to the side of the door. There was a quiet beep before the light flickered out and died. I pressed against the bar on the door, pushing it out and holding it open, shooting them all my most sarcastic smile.

“First smoking in the bathroom, now destroying school property?” she asked. She seemed uncaring that someone my size had managed to tear into the wall like it were made of styrofoam, reminding me of that day she'd caught me puffing at the sink in the top floor bathroom. “Well, aren't you just a regular Wednesday Addams?” she murmured derisively.

I froze at the last name – the name nobody was meant to know. Rationally, I knew she didn't know its significance. How the hell could she? Nobody here knew that name, and nobody ever would.

Nonetheless I pasted an utterly sarcastic smile onto my lips, hoping no one had noticed me briefly falter. “Fuck you,” I said, bright and cheerful.

She scowled unhappily at me, reluctantly allowing Stiles to drag her out into the hall. Jackson slipped by without a glance in my direction – which I was more than fine with – but Allison spared me a weak smile, clearly worried for the safety of her best friend.

I nodded back, letting the door shut after us with a click before following them through the labyrinthine halls of the high school. “If we're doing a study group, why didn't we just stay in the library?” Lydia was asking from up ahead, yanking her arm free of Stiles' anxious grip.

“Because we're meeting up with somebody else,” he lied unconvincingly. I'd have to give him lessons after this whole thing was over with.

Lydia frowned. “Why don't they just meet us at the library?”

“ _Oh_!” he exclaimed theatrically. “That would have been a great idea!” He placed an arm over her shoulders, failing so much as acting casual that it was nearly painful. “Too late!”

“Okay, hold on-” she tried to argue.

“Lydia, shut up and walk,” Jackson snapped as he grabbed her roughly by the arm, shoving her towards the main exit of the school. We pushed our way out into the gloomy light of the cloudy day, making a beeline for the familiar blue Jeep. Jackson's face scrunched in disgust at the thought of getting inside, but under the harsh glare I sent him he changed his attitude, gulping and sliding into the backseat with an exasperated Lydia, Allison squeezing herself in beside her best friend.

I took the front seat beside Stiles, slamming the door after me and tossing my feet up on the dash. I might as well have gotten comfortable, since I was stuck here defending the perplexing little redhead anyway.

“Where are we going?” Lydia asked cautiously as Stiles steered us quickly out of the parking lot.

“Scott's place,” Allison told her truthfully.

She opened her mouth to argue. “But-”

This time I was the one to stop her, spinning around in my seat to shoot her my most lethal glare. Her heart raced in fear, but to her credit she merely glared back, refusing to admit to her fear. It still worked a charm, however, and she fell obediently silent. I turned back around and smirked.

Spending as much time with Stiles as I had, I was beginning to forget what it felt like to truly terrify someone. I always had my safety gloves on with him, always keeping the warning of death from my eyes, making sure I didn't move too fast or break his fragile bones with a too-strong bump.

It was exhausting, but also good for me, in a way. It was like a self-imposed leash, reminding me why I was doing this – because of people like Stiles. Because I didn't want to be a killer anymore. Because I wanted to be better; be human again.

The ride to Scott's house was blessedly silent, but Lydia spoke up as we came to a stop in his driveway. “If we're studying at Scott's house, then where's Scott?” she asked us suspiciously. I wished Allison hadn't supplied her with vervain – this whole thing would go so much smoother if I could just compel her into submission.

“He's meeting us here,” Stiles told her with a forced smile. “I think...” he frowned wearily. “I _hope._ ”

I ignored Allison and Jackson mumbling behind me, watching instead as Stiles pulled out the spare key he had to Scott's house, slipping it into the lock and pushing open the door, all but shoving Lydia inside. She glared at him as we all piled into the entryway, but he took no notice as he spun around, shutting the door and locking it every way possible, then glancing out the window to be sure we hadn't been followed.

“Uh, there's been a few break ins around the neighbourhood,” he told her unconvincingly when he caught her suspicious look. Yeah – he was in desperate need of some lying lessons. He glanced around, darting across the room suddenly, taking a lone chair from the corner and shoving it under the handle. It wouldn't keep a werewolf out, but if it made him feel safer then who was I to tell him differently? “And a murder,” he muttered awkwardly.

I sighed, dropping my head into my hands. I was too old for this shit.

“Lydia, follow me,” said Jackson suddenly, and I looked up to see him scowling; but to be fair, when was he ever _not_ scowling? “I need to talk to you for a minute,” he muttered.

“Seriously?” Lydia huffed, heels clicking on the wood floors as she strode after her ex-boyfriend. “What is going on with everyone?”

They made their way up the stairs, and while part of me thought it was best to keep an ear on them, I found I couldn't be bothered once Stiles began talking. Besides, they weren't in any danger until Derek and his pack actually _showed up._ Until then I figured they could roam as they wished.

“Okay, what's the plan?” Stiles demanded, looking at me expectantly.

“Good question,” I replied, and his expression fell when he realised I didn't have all the answers. “They're going to find us eventually,” I continued, saying what needed to be said. No use sticking our heads in the sand. This was do or die. “We won't be able to keep them out for very long.”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, it's not like they need an invitation,” he said slyly, “unlike _some_ people we know.”

I rolled my eyes at the dig, lips twitching upwards against my will. “You don't happen to be carrying any wolfsbane around on your person, huh?” I asked him, knowing it was a long shot.

Instead of snorting or laughing it off, his heart stuttered guiltily, making me frown at the unexpected reaction.

“What?” I asked instantly, brow furrowing at I stared at him cautiously. His heart started to race; he never was great under pressure. “Stiles? Do you have wolfsbane on you or not?” I demanded. He didn't reply, acting as though he hadn't heard me, moving the curtain back and peering out the rapidly darkening street, but I wasn't going to sit back quietly while he knowingly kept something important from me. “What are you hiding?” I growled, stubborn and unyielding.

He sighed, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose for a moment before they moved to a thin piece of cord wrapped around his neck that I hadn't taken the time to notice before. “It's not wolfsbane...” he trailed off, and I stared in confusion for a moment before it clicked.

“You're wearing vervain,” I said, and it wasn't a question.

It was in a tiny little silver jar, attached to the cord, sealed off so a vampire wouldn't be able to smell it. He hadn't been wearing it before today, and I knew it was a recent addition to his wardrobe.

It probably shouldn't have been such a surprise, but nevertheless it was like I'd been punched in the stomach. I sucked a sharp breath in through my teeth, and the kid winced, clearly not having wanted me to find out. I couldn't blame him, I wouldn't have trusted me either after what happened the other night at the pool. I couldn't be mad; if anything I was just disappointed. Not at him – _never_ at him – just at myself.

“Look, I'm sorry-” he began.

“Don't apologise,” I snapped, regretting it when he winced.

“Guys?” Allison spoke up. Her sudden voice surprised me; I'd forgotten she was even there with us. “We have a problem,” she said warily.

I tore my eyes away from Stiles, glancing at her questioningly. She was leaning against the window, peering through the gap in the curtain at something in the darkness. I stepped around Stiles, pushing the thin curtain back to glance out into the street.

Derek stood on the curb, his group of merry betas standing lined up to his left. “Call Scott,” I instructed Allison in a quiet enough voice that they probably wouldn't overhear, “ _now._ ”

My priorities had changed. No longer was I caught up in the whirlwind of stinging emotions I'd been feeling moments before, now I was in pure survival mode, my only conscious thought was to get these kids out of here safely. Every last one of them. Even Jackson.

I stepped back, rolling my neck and stretching my fingers, preparing for a fight. It was anything but evenly matched, but something told me I had to try.

“No,” came Stiles' voice, and I glanced back at him in confusion.

“Excuse me?” I asked when he didn't elaborate, voice dangerously low.

“You're not going out there,” he told me strongly. My eyebrows crept up my forehead at his gall. “You're not going to fight them all alone,” he said with more confidence than I'd expected. “It's four against one – there's no way you'll win.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I grumbled, but he paid me no mind.

“Just, just stay here,” he tried to order me, but it didn't feel like a command. It felt like a plea. “Please,” he added, desperate and floundering. My expression wiped clean of malice, and I chewed on the inside of my cheek, unsure how to react. Before I could form a reply he peeked at Allison, brow furrowing when he caught sight of her phone. “What are you doing?”

“I think–I think I have to call my dad,” she mumbled weakly. I instantly spun around, fixing her with a serious glare.

“Allison,” I said, the word low with disapproval. Having the hunters here wasn't an option. Not in a million years.

Stiles felt the same. “But if he finds you here...you and Scott-” he tried to say.

“I know.” It was quiet for a moment as the two friends shared a significant look. “What are we supposed to do?” she asked rhetorically. “They're not here to _scare_ us, they're here to _kill_ Lydia.”

“ _No one_ is going to kill Lydia,” I promised her, hands clenched into tight fists. “I may not be able to stop them all, but I sure as hell can stop them from getting to her. Worse case scenario? I take her and run, they'll never catch up to me.”

Allison didn't say anything for a long moment, considering my words. “How do we know you'll risk yourself like that?” she asked through the darkness of the house, squinting as she tried to see me, while I stared at her with perfect clarity even through the shadow. “You don't even like Lydia,” she pointed out plainly.

I wasn't going to do it for _Lydia_ , I wanted to say. But I didn't. “I may be a vampire, Allison, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let the girl die just because I happen to find her irritating,” I said dryly. “If that was the case, you'd all be dead a thousand times over.”

Neither knew what to say for a moment there. “Thanks,” said Stiles, a little awkward, a lot uncomfortable.

Something about what I'd said must have been enough for Allison, however, because she put her phone back into her pocket and instead pulled a crossbow from her bag, holding it at her side like she was born with it in her hand.

“I've got an idea,” said Stiles suddenly, and we turned to look at him in wary curiosity. “Shoot one of them,” he said like it was so easy.

Allison's eyes went wide, and mine narrowed in contemplation. “Are you serious?” Allison hissed incredulously.

“We told Scott we could protect ourselves, so let's do it. Or at least give it a shot, right?” he suggested, and I couldn't help but be just a little bit proud. “Look, at the very least it'll distract them long enough for Jules to get a few good hits in,” he told her, glancing at me with a frown that contradicted his hopeful words.

“One second of distraction is all I'll need. One good grip on their neck and they're done,” I assured them.

Stiles cursed. “Jesus. We're not _killing_ them, Jules,” he hissed, exasperated.

“We're not?”

“No,” he snapped back impatiently. “Incapacitate _only_.”

I pouted, but knew better than to argue. I'd seen it as an us-or-them type of thing, but apparently Stiles didn't see it as the same black-and-white issue I did. To him they wouldn't be casualties of war – they'd be murdered teenagers – and I supposed I could see his point.

But, to be fair to me, I had only sworn of killing _humans_. Nowhere in that oath had I mentioned anything about sparing any werewolf lives.

“Okay,” Allison breathed suddenly, peering through the curtains, out into the night.

“Look,” sighed Stiles, “they don't think we're going to fight. One of them gets taken down by either your arrow or Jules? I guarantee they'll take off.”

I wasn't so convinced, but I would let him think that if it helped him get through the next few minutes. Sometimes ignorance was bliss.

Allison sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. The stench of her adrenaline was intoxicating, and I grit my teeth against the unwelcome flare of hunger in my gut. “Which one?” she asked Stiles weakly.  
  
“Uh,” he hummed, bouncing on the tips of his toes. “Derek. Yeah, shoot Derek. Preferably in the head.”

“If Scott was able to catch an arrow, then Derek _definitely_ can.”

“Okay, just shoot one of the other three, then.”

“You mean two?”

“I mean three,” he darted to the window I was stood beside, both of us staring out at the pack. “Where the hell is Isaac?” he hissed, and I cursed myself for not paying enough attention.

Footsteps on the wood floors met my ears, and acting on instant I shoved Stiles to the side, spinning around and catching Isaac's fist in my hand. My face changed in one smooth movement, fangs sliding free and inky black veins winding up my cheekbones. Isaac tried to hit me with his other fist, but I sidestepped it and used his momentum to throw him around.

Stiles stumbled, righting himself and preparing to help me fight the beta. “Stay back,” I warned him quickly, slipping around the wolf's side and landing a strong kick to the small of his back that made something crack. Good.

Stiles didn't want to listen, grabbing ahold of a lamp and raising it above his head, preparing to hit Isaac in the skull. The beta ducked smoothly out of the way, making Stiles over swing and trip forwards. I was forced to catch the clumsy human, preventing him from breaking a bone.

Isaac used the distraction to his advantage, landing a punch to the side of my face. I took the hit easily, pushing Stiles back a few steps and glaring at the wolf. I gathered my fury, using it to fuel myself.

“Didn't your mother ever teach you not to hit a woman?” I asked, goading him and flashing my glistening fangs. His eyes glowed amber in response, and my blood sang with the urge to kill him, like a code written into the fabric of my undead DNA.

“I'll be sure not to if I see one,” Isaac responded blithely, and I couldn't help the amused smirk that stretched across my lips. Fast as lightening my leg snapped out, hard sole of my boot slamming into his chest. He was forced backwards into the door, the wood creaking, threatening to give under his weight. “Come on,” he sneered, righting himself and gesturing for me to come closer. “I don't bite.”

I grinned, sinful and wicked, “I do.”

My fangs slid into the soft skin of his neck. It was werewolf blood, so while it was slightly appetising – as in, I would drink it if I were starving to death – it was mostly just disgusting, tasting like dirt. Nonetheless I ripped out a large chunk of flesh, blood pouring down his neck. I spat it out in disgust, wiping at my blood covered lips with a grimace.

Isaac swayed, hand pressed to his wound. It didn't keep him down for long, though, healing quickly.

He swung out a hand that I easily ducked. I landed several hits to his gut in quick succession, and he groaned in pain. I expected him to lash out at me, so I was surprised when his hand snapped out and struck Stiles across the face.

I froze, and a self-satisfied smirk overtook his face. It was as if he thought that with that single move he'd somehow beaten me.

Fury bubbled up from deep within me, and I snarled like a feral cat, disappearing from one end of the room and reappearing with Isaac's throat in my grip, his back pressed painfully to the wall. He writhed in my grip, but I was done playing nice. He'd crossed a fucking line.

“You _do not_ touch him,” I growled, grip around his neck tightening until his face began to turn a satisfying purple. I watched with barely concealed glee as his eyes began to roll back into his head, hands doing their best to try and loosen my grip as he gasped desperately for breath.

Without warning I was yanked off of him, and in response I wheeled around to hit someone only to have Scott catch my fist in his hand.

Behind me Isaac crumpled to the ground, unconscious but unfortunately alive. “Enough,” Scott said softly. I bared my fangs at him, still in attack mode – and he'd gotten between me and my kill. “Jules,” he barked, hand moving to my shoulder, “that's _enough_.”

I blinked back to myself, relaxing my bones from where they'd been locked into a crouch. I cleared my throat, the taste of werewolf blood still gross and thick on my tongue.

“You good?” Scott asked me carefully, and I nodded slowly as I wiped my bloody hands down the fabric of my jumper.

Stiles appeared at my side, his hand winding around my arm almost as an afterthought. Scott picked the unconscious Isaac up by the scruff, bending down and also picking up what appeared to be a paralysed Erica; I'd been so focused on my kill that I hadn't even seen her come in.

Scott strode to the door, Allison appearing and opening it for him, and we watched as he threw the betas at their alpha's feet.

“I think I'm finally getting why you keep refusing me, Scott,” Derek said, not appearing to be fazed by our thwarting of his plans. He was adaptable, I'd give him that. “You're not an omega. You're an alpha of your own pack.” His eyes drifted over all of us with something like a grudging respect. “But you know you can't beat me,” he said simply.

The words were a challenge, and I took a step forwards only to be stopped by Scott's hand, which snapped out to keep me from attacking. I froze, reluctantly obedient.

“We can hold you off until the cops get here,” Scott told Derek smugly.

Derek cocked his head, realising that the blaring in the distance was the sound of police cars on their way. He looked like he was about to say something, but stopped himself when we all heard a reptilian hiss from above us. Everyone's gaze shot to the upper level of the house, peering through the darkness at the kanima as it slithered along the awnings, glaring down at us with dark, familiar eyes.

“Get them out of here,” Derek instructed his remaining conscious beta.

Heels on the stairs behind us met my ears, and I turned in time to see Lydia reappear, panic on her face. “Would someone please tell me what the _hell_ is going on?!” she demanded, glaring at us all angry, watering eyes.

And at once we all knew the startling truth. It _wasn't_ Lydia after all.

It was Jackson.

From above us the kanima gave a snarl before disappearing like smoke, gone in an instant, escaping once again. I cussed under my breath, irritation like a fire in my veins.

“Get them away!” Derek commanded Boyd, throwing a lazy hand at the unconscious Erica and Isaac. “You,” he growled, reluctantly jabbing a finger in my direction, “I need your speed.”

And suddenly it didn't matter that we were on opposite sides, didn't matter that we weren't part of the same team. All that mattered was getting the kanima – Jackson – before it managed to kill anyone else.

I glanced over at Scott and Stiles, not quite asking for permission, but certainly something close. Scott nodded his head once, and Stiles reached out to grasp my hand.

Skin hot and calloused against mine, he squeezed once before nodding as well, telling me to go, that he'd be fine. And so, with one mission in mind, I started to run.


	20. House of Wolves

_You better run like the devil,_

_'Cause they're never gonna leave you alone!_

_You better hide up in the alley,_

_'Cause they're never gonna find you a home!_

_And as the blood runs down the walls,_

_You see me creepin' up these halls._

_I've been a bad motherfucker_

_Tell your sister I'm another_

House Of Wolves – My Chemical Romance

* * *

Our feet hitting the pavement and Derek's heaving pants were the only sounds I could hear as we raced through the streets after Jackson. I was plenty ahead of the alpha, but not quite up with the kanima. The last thing I wanted was to get into a fight with it alone.

Last time that had happened, I'd ended up nearly killing one of the only people I could say was truly my friend.

I watched as the kanima climbed a fence like it was nothing, slipping into an industrial lot with a reptilian hiss. I didn't pause, grabbing the metal mesh and hoisting myself over it. My body sailed through the air and then I hit the ground running, listening distantly as Derek too catapulted himself over the fence.

I decided it was time to stop playing tag.

I sped up, feet sliding against the gravel beneath it until I stood in front of the beast, a vicious snarl escaping my lips. It screeched back, exposing rows and rows of glistening, pointy white teeth. I ran, slamming into it and sending it flying backwards into a concrete column.

In moments Derek was at my side, landing a hit to its slimy face. It snarled, but the alpha wasn't fazed, spin kicking it onto its ass like a pro. I was grudgingly impressed but refused to show it, dodging an yet another attack and landing a kick of my own to its spine – if it even _had_ one.

It flipped back into an upright position, and Derek picked up an old, discarded piece of metal, holding it up as a shield that the kanima attacked. Sparks flew where its nails connected with the dulled metal.

Working in tandem with Derek, I grabbed the lizard by its neck, pulling it back and then slamming its face into the column behind Derek who darted out of the way only just in time. I dropped it, letting the kanima collapse to the ground, momentarily stunned.

I slid back into place on the other side of it, prepared to end this. But before either Derek or I could make a move it was climbing up the column beside us like some kind of fucked-up Spiderman. It sneered down at us, taunting us – which seemed like something that Jackson prick would do.

Suddenly the area exploded in a flash of blinding sparks, and the kanima fell from its place, landing with a dull thud onto the pavement. Gunshots sounded, loud and jarring in the lot, and we spun around to see papa-Argent had appeared, gun in hand as he shot at the creature.

Great, Argent was on top of it. I was confident he could handle it from here. He was, after all, trained. But now Derek and I had only one job: to get the hell out of dodge.

We ran in opposite directions, but I couldn't have cared less. I hoisted myself effortlessly over the fence once more, only this time coming to a dead stop when I spied a familiar Jeep parked on the other side, Stiles gaping at me through the dirty windscreen.

I rolled my eyes and slipped into the passenger seat. “Turn off your damn lights,” I hissed, and Stiles did as he was told, bright headlights clicking off. “What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded.

“Scott and I couldn't let you do this alone,” he murmured back, sitting straighter in his seat, trying to see what was happening beyond the fence.

“I managed two hundred years without you, Stiles,” I snapped, the hurt from earlier resurfacing as I looked at him, “I'll manage two hundred after you're gone, too.”

He winced like he'd been struck, and part of me wished I could take it back. I didn't though, staying firm and scowling out the window.

“I guess I never thought of it that way,” he said thoughtfully, his voice hollow. I didn't look at him, watching the darkness outside, on guard for any hint of danger, making sure the hunters didn't come close enough to realise Stiles was involved. That was the last thing I needed. “Sometimes I forget you're not like me,” he whispered, “that you'll be around forever.”

I didn't know how to respond to that, so I said nothing. As luck would have it, the perfect distraction came jogging through the darkness on the other end of the street. “Come on,” I said to Stiles, nodding in his friend's direction. “We need to catch up with Scott.”

I jumped to the ground and slammed the car door shut behind me, listening as Stiles did the same.

“Keep to the shadows,” I ordered him, refusing to meet his eyes and instead focusing on keeping an eye on the hunters on the far edge of the lot. We walked around the area, making sure we didn't step into the light.

By the third time Stiles had tripped over a cinderblock I'd had enough, pushing away any irritation I might have had and reaching down to grasp his hand in my own. I held his hand, pulling him along the safe path, ensuring he wouldn't trip and hurt himself. His heart sped up in his chest, and after a moment his fingers intertwined with my own, unsure and tentative. His palm was slightly sweaty, but I said nothing about it _or_ his racing pulse.

Finally we made it through to the corner, slipping around onto the street and making our way towards the direction Scott had fled. I didn't take my hand from his, but neither of us said anything about it. I led him towards where the beta's scent was coming from: a corner he was crouched behind, staring at the entrance to a nightclub.

Stiles reached forwards first, tapping him on the back with the hand not clutched to my own, and the distracted werewolf practically jumped out of his skin. He pressed a hand over his heart, whirling around to glare at the pair of us. “Sorry, sorry,” Stiles hissed apologetically, stepping back, giving Scott his space. “Did you see where he went?” Stiles asked quickly.

Scott huffed. “I lost him.”

“What? You couldn't catch his scent?”

“I don't think it has one,” Scott responded dubiously.

“He's right,” I added. “Otherwise I'd have known it was Jackson long before now.” Scott nodded in agreement, but unfortunately this made the glaring hole in our task all the more obvious. “How are we supposed to know what the hell he's doing?” I asked sharply, glancing around the corner at the lineup of people waiting to get into the nightclub.

Scott, however, looked anything but confused. “He's planning to kill someone.”

“Oh,” Stiles chirped with false brightness. “That explains the claws and the fangs and all that. Good, makes perfect sense now.” Scott shot his best friend an unimpressed glare that held no real heat to it. “What, Scott? Come on, I'm 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone; sarcasm is my _only_ defence.”

He threw both of his hands in the air, and since ours were connected, mine went up with him, shoving our intertwined fingers in Scott's face.

Scott frowned, taking a moment to process what he'd just seen. He looked between Stiles and I with a thoughtful frown. “Are you guys holding hands?” he asked, cocking his head at an angle much like an actual dog. Stiles dropped my hand like it had burned him, going as far as to take a step away from me, his cheeks covered with embarrassed red blotches. “Whatever,” Scott sighed, deciding there were more important things to be focused on, but no doubt storing the information away for later. “Just help me find it.”

“And then we'll subdue it,” I agreed, sharing a knowing nod with Scott.

“Not _it_ ,” Stiles corrected us, shoving his hands into his pockets. I noticed that, although I couldn't feel the cold, my hand felt particularly icy without his warm skin pressed against it. “ _Jackson_ ,” he reminded us tightly.

“I know,” Scott breathed, glancing at the line of people around the corner, “I know.”

“The real question is, does _he_ know it?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest and narrowing my eyes down the street.

“And did anybody else see him back at your house?” Stiles jumped in.

“I mean, I don't think so. But he already passed Derek's test anyway.”

“Yeah, but that's just the thing; how _did_ he pass the test?”

“I don't know,” Scott replied, before snapping his head around to peer at me through the darkness. “Do you know?”

I blinked. “Why would _I_ know?” I asked with genuine confusion.

“Uh, let's see,” Stiles began sarcastically, and I sighed internally, preparing for his rant. “Maybe because Scott's only been a part of the supernatural community for a few months while _you_ have nearly two hundred _years_ under your belt?”

I rolled my eyes and bit my tongue to prevent myself from sassing him back. It wouldn't help matters if we just began bickering pointlessly. “I'm not all-knowing,” I told him, remarkably patient and tapping my fingers in an uneven beat against my arm.

He huffed and turned away. “Well, do you think it's like an either-or thing?” he asked, changing tactics. “Derek said a snake can't be poisoned by its own venom, right? When's the kanima _not_ the kanima?”

There was a beat. “When it's Jackson.”

It irked me that these two teenage boys had managed to put it together before me, but I let go of my annoyance almost instantly; it helped nobody. I heard the creaking of metal from above me and glanced up, eyes narrowing at the sight of the kanima crawling through a window. “Guys,” I hissed, tapping Stiles on the arm.

He looked up, alarmed, then followed my gaze. Scott caught on after a long moment, doing the same. “You see that?” Stiles asked his friend, peering up at the disappearing tail.

“He's inside,” Scott pointed out needlessly.

“What's he going to do in there?”

It was quiet for a moment as we contemplated his question, then Scott exclaimed, “I know who he's after.”

“What? How? Did you smell something?”

“Armani.”

We stared at the teen wolf blankly, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Danny,” he explained, looking frustrated when we didn't immediately understand. “Danny wears Armani cologne, and I just saw him going inside. Who else could Jackson be going after?”

“Why would he go after his best friend?” Stiles asked.

“I don't know,” he replied frantically. “But we have to stop him.” He paused, glancing around the small alleyway we were couped in. “How the hell are we going to get inside? Is there like, a window we can go through or something...?”

“Uh...” Stiles trailed, pointing obviously at me.

I rolled my eyes once more. “Oh sure, go right ahead and volunteer me,” I drawled sardonically, and Stiles huffed at me, less than pleased with my attitude.

“Will you compel the bouncer or not?” he asked directly.

I wanted to say no just to spite him, but I decided that was too much of a dick move. “Fine,” I grumbled. I'd do it, but I didn't have to be happy about it. I strode forwards, head held high, my usual walk transforming in an instant to the confident, self-assured one I used when pretending to be physically older than I was.

Scott and Stiles scrambled after me, staying close behind me as I padded up to the large, scowling bouncer. “Back of the line, sweetheart,” he said gruffly.

“No,” I said flatly, making his eyes snap to me. As soon as his baby blues met my emerald greens he was gone. His expression dropped away, leaving only a hollow stare behind as he waited for my instructions. I ignored the confused stares I was getting from the men in the line, focusing instead on the task at hand. “You're going to let my friends and I inside now, and you're not going to check our ID's.”

I blinked, effectively breaking my hold, and the guy shook his head, frowning for a split second before a peaceful smile appeared on his thin lips. “Right this way, ma'am,” he said, unclipping the velvet rope and waving the boys and I through.

“That's seriously my favourite thing,” Stiles shouted to me giddily as we stepped into the club, the music so loud it made my ears ache. I held back a retort about how if he loved it so much he wouldn't be wearing vervain, but I held my tongue. We waded into the crowd, coming to a stop on the edge of the dance floor. I suddenly realised why I'd been the recipient of all those stares.

“Guys, everyone in here's a dude?” Scott yelled to us, and I looked over at Stiles, a snicker escaping my lips when I saw a handful of beautiful drag queens draped over him, one even stroking his freckled face. “I think we're in a gay club!” Scott continued obliviously.

“Man, nothing gets passed those keen werewolf senses, huh Scott?”

I rolled my eyes good-naturedly, still chuckling as I turned around, intent on finding the bar. I dodged the grinding men, enjoying being in a club without having to put up with the men leer at my chest like uncivilised beasts. I ordered a drink from the bartender, then perched at a chair, sipping my scotch and gazing around the room, eyes seeking out Jackson – or rather, the kanima.

“Two beers!” Stiles ordered, slipping into place beside me with Scott a good five minutes later, finally having managed to get away from his enamoured admirers.

“IDs?” the bartender asked, eyeing the pair suspiciously. The boys handed over their fake driver's licences. The guy behind the bar peered at them closely for a moment before smirking and shaking his head. “How about two cokes?”

“Rum and coke? Sure!” Stiles grinned, bobbing his head to the music. After a moment he seemed to notice the bartender's hard stare and quickly changed his tune. “Coke's fine actually...I'm driving anyway.”

I took another sip of my scotch, smirking at a dejected Stiles.

“Can't you compel me a drink?” he whined and I simply shot him an unimpressed look. “This wouldn't be a problem if you would just hook me up with your illegal papers guy!” he yelled in an effort to be heard over the thudding music.

“Say it louder, why don't you?” I shouted back, scowling at the brown eyed boy.

“That one's paid for,” another bartender – this one shirtless – said with a sexy smirk, gesturing to Scott's coke.

Scott couldn't contain his grin as he took a sip from his straw. I could faintly see a blush creeping up his tanned cheeks, and I smirked widely, finishing off the rest of my drink. “Shut up,” Stiles snarled without any bite, sipping at his own drink.

“I didn't say anything.”

“Well, your face did.”

I chuckled at their banter, spinning around to peer out into the crowd. I was never much of a dancer, at least, not this kind of dancing. Sure, it could be fun in the right setting with the perfect amount of alcohol, but to me, dancing was less about rubbing up against each other and more about the connection you felt to the other person. That's how it was when I grew up, anyway, and I guess those sort of things tended to stick with you.

“Hey, I found Danny,” Stiles piped up after a minute, putting down his cup and gesturing into the sweaty crowd.

“I found Jackson,” Scott countered, eyes on the ceiling. I followed his gaze, scowling at the overgrown lizard creeping along the piping above. “Get Danny,” he instructed a moment later, eyes trained on the kanima.

“What are you gonna do?”

Scott flicked open his hand, exposing the sharp claws stemming from each finger. I glanced over at him, veins crawling up my cheeks. “Works for me,” Stiles hummed, nodding to himself before hurrying forwards.

Scott and I stalked forwards, keeping an eye on the kanima as we attempted to get under it, so we could stop it if it dropped to the dance floor. A large shirtless man bumped into me, and while ordinarily that would have been the opposite of a problem, it was more than inconvenient in that moment as I took my eyes off the lizard for a split second, looking back up a moment later to see it had vanished. “Where the hell did it go?” Scott muttered, knowing I could hear him over the booming music easily.

“I don't know,” I growled, glaring up at the roof as it began to leak fog, yet another inconvenience.

Suddenly there were screams echoing through the room, so loud they pierced over the music. My chest clenched in worry. I was so concerned for Stiles' wellbeing that I barely noticed Derek, who appeared and slashed the kanima across the chest. I didn't have time to make sure everyone was okay, I just had to get to Stiles.

“Stiles?!” I yelled even once the music had died down, roughly shoving through the tightly packed crowd. “Stiles?!”

“Jules?!”

I slipped out from behind a giant man with a painted body, instantly moving to Stiles' side, my hands attaching to his shoulders like magnets. “You're alright?” I checked with a frown, and he was quick to nod.

“What happened?” he asked quietly, pressing a hand to my back and gently pushing me away from the panicked crowd.

“Derek showed up,” I told him, leading him through to the far exit, struggling to keep to human speeds in my worry for Scott and the whereabouts of the kanima. “Scott went this way.”

We rushed from the club, the only sounds our footsteps on the ground and Stiles' panting. I led him out into the cool night air and through the parked cars until we finally made it to Scott, who knelt on the ground over an unconscious, injured Jackson.

“What do we do with him now?” the teen wolf asked, at a loss, blinking up at us desperately. Stiles turned to look at me expectantly and I got the feeling I would have to take the reins on this one.

“Get him in the back of the Jeep,” I instructed, glancing around the parking lot to make sure we weren't being watched. I wouldn't put it past Derek to spy on us – the creepy bastard.

“What?” Stiles interjected, making no move to follow my order. “No.”

I blanched. “What do you mean, _no_?”

“He'll get blood on the seats.”

“ _That's_ your argument?”

He hesitated. “Well-”

“We don't have time for this,” I cut him off, reluctantly reaching down and all but throwing the dead weight of Jackson over my shoulder.

I knew it must have looked weird, a girl of my height hefting a boy of Jackson's size over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes; but I wasn't particularly concerned with appearances right now. It all came back to one thing – protect the secret.

“Go inside,” I told Scott sternly as I balanced the now-human kanima over my shoulder. “Make sure nobody died, or if they did, find out who they are. I'll take the lizard to the jeep and have Stiles bring it around. We'll meet back here in ten.”

It was solid enough plan considering I'd come up with it on the spot. Scott agreed, rushing back into the club, probably glad someone else was making the decisions for once. I could already hear the faint sounds of sirens carried on the wind as ambulances and probably police made their way to the club's location.

“Come on,” I urged a still Stiles, adjusting Jackson on my shoulder and stalking down the rows of cars, heading straight for the empty industrial lot we were parked behind.

Jackson was light as a feather, so I was mildly amused when Stiles said, “let me help you with that.”

I shot him a dubious look. “Trust me, I don't need the help.”

“Hey,” he snapped, although not unkindly. “I'm trying to be chivalrous here.”

I raised an eyebrow in his general direction. “We – a vampire and a human – are heading to your Jeep to hide the unconscious body of a homicidal lizard, all the while fleeing from what by now is probably officially labelled as a crime scene, and you're concerned with _chivalry_?”

He grumbled unintelligently under his breath, but I paid him no attention as we approached the gate. I had two options: I could throw Jackson over, or I could break the lock on the gate to the right. Deciding I would rather risk breaking and entering charges than waking the reptile in my arms, I gripped the padlock in my fist, giving it one sharp tug and smirking with satisfaction as it snapped.

Stiles didn't comment as he slid through the gap, pulling his keys from his pocket and unlocking his Jeep. I moved around to the back, watching as Stiles rushed forwards, opening the door for me and allowing me to carelessly drop Jackson on the backseat.

We both walked around to our respective sides, Stiles sliding into place behind the wheel while I leaned back in the passenger seat, kicking my feet up on the dash and ignoring Stiles' annoyed grimace.

We were quiet during the very short drive back around to the front of the club. Stiles reversed into a parking space and I slid back out into the cold, pulling a cigarette from my pocket and lighting it up, leaning my weight against the Jeep and puffing in the smoke.

A few moments later Scott jogged up to me, nodding in acknowledgement before he slipped into my freshly vacated seat. I tuned out the sound of their muttering, pulling my phone from my pocket and checking for any new messages. My inbox was empty except for an older text from Stiles about the storm warnings a few day ago and to make sure I kept my windows shut. I smiled at the memory, unable to help myself as I reread his texted words.

Suddenly there were two headlights beaming in my vision. I winced, my sensitive eyes aching momentarily under the light. I sucked in another lungful of chemicals, pushing my phone back into my pocket and glancing over my shoulder into the car at a panicking Stiles. He exchanged some sharp words with Scott before he was suddenly tumbling from the car, stumbling across the road to meet his father halfway.

“Hey!” he greeted his father brightly.

The Sheriff was anything but impressed. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“What do you mean, 'what am I doing here?'” he asked blankly, and I watched in vague amusement as I absentmindedly blew smoke rings from my lips. “It's a _club._ We were clubbing. You know? At the club.”

“Not exactly your type of club,” his dad replied skeptically.

“Uh,” he muttered, briefly at a loss for what to say. “Well, dad, there's a conversation that we need to-”

“You're not gay.”

I snorted quietly, but luckily neither man noticed, both too caught up in their conversation to notice me watching them. “I _could_ be,” Stiles argued defensively, as if offended by his dad's words.

“Not dressed like that,” he countered, eyeing his son with a critical eye. I barked a sharp laugh, this one heard by the small family. Stiles' heart picked up, but he didn't turn around, while the Sheriff glanced at me, lowering his voice as he looked back at Stiles. “Not with the way you look at her.”

Again, Stiles didn't seem to know how to reply.

“This is the second crime scene that you've just happened to show up on,” the Sheriff continued strongly, frowning down at his son. “And at this point, I've been fed so many lies that I'm not sure I know the kid standing in front of me. Now what the _hell is going on_?”

I winced, looking away and pretending I couldn't hear every word.

“Dad, I-”

“The _truth_ , Stiles.”

“The truth?”

I froze, watching the kid worriedly. He swallowed loudly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. I wondered what he'd come up with. If I had to, I could compel the man to go away, but something told me that since Stiles had taken to wearing vervain around his neck, he probably wouldn't have liked that suggestion very much.

“The truth is that we were here with Danny,” Stiles finally lied, nodding to himself as he spoke. “Yeah, because he just broke up with his boyfriend, so we were just trying to take him out and get his mind off things. That's it.”

It was silent for a beat, and I watched the sheriff carefully, hoping he'd believe the lie and save me from having to compel him behind Stiles' back.

“Well, that's really good of you guys,” he finally said, looking at his son with soft eyes. “You're good friends.”

I listened to Stiles' heart race with what was no doubt guilt, but as always, kept quiet. He clicked his tongue, forcing a carefree smile onto his face. With a pat on his dad's back, he'd turned around and retreated to the safety of his Jeep. I nodded politely at the sheriff, dropping my cigarette to the ground once he'd turned away, crushing it with my boot as I walked around to the back of the car. I tugged open the door, cringing at the sight of a naked, sweaty Jackson curled up in the backseat.

“What are you doing?!” Stiles exclaimed as I roughly shoved aside the unconscious kid's legs, preparing to settle into the seat.

I glanced up at him confusedly. “Getting in the car?”

“You-you can't sit there,” he argued, shaking his head, glancing at the naked boy with a look of disgust.

“Why not?”

“Because–well–because he's _naked,_ ” he said, cringing as he realised how weak his argument was. I'd literally carried the guy – naked – across an entire empty lot not ten full minutes ago. What did it matter if I sat next to him now?

I stared at Stiles expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate. I was exasperated when he didn't. “So?” I pressed sharply, growing impatient. “We've all seen a dick, Stiles.”

Stiles flushed. This time it wasn't all blotchy patches of red, but rather a wave that crawled up from under his collar. “Would-would you just swap with Scott?” he stammered, and although it was worded like a question, it was clear there was only one correct answer.

Mumbling unintelligibly under my breath, I walked back around to the passenger seat, slipping past a sheepish Scott and making myself comfortable in the front seat. Once Stiles was satisfied with the seating arrangements he pulled out of the parking lot, steering us out onto the main road.

“Stiles?” Scott spoke up a good few minutes down the road, clearly at a loss as he watched his best friend scowl out the window like he smelt something bad. “What the hell are we going to do with him now?”

“Take him somewhere he can't do any damage, obviously,” Stiles said, finally breaking out of his thoughts.

“Like?”

“Uh, what about your house?” he suggested.

“Not with my mom there!” Scott countered, glancing down distastefully at Jackson's naked form. “We need to take him somewhere we can hold him long enough to figure out what to do with him. _Or_ long enough to convince him that he's dangerous.”

There was a beat. “I still say we just kill him.”

I snapped my head around to stare at Stiles with wide eyes, my mouth forming into a sly smile. This boy surprised me every minute of every day. Who knew he could be so gloriously ruthless? “I'll take this one for the team,” I said almost giddily, raising my hand for consideration. Not only could I bend my oath to kill a werewolf, but I figured I could bend it for a psychopathic killer lizard, too.

“We're _not_ killing him,” Scott said sternly. I turned around to pout at him, lower lip sticking out dramatically.

“ _God_ ,” Stiles hissed back in annoyance, feeling the same irritation as me with Scott's heart of gold. “Fine. Okay...” he trailed off, watching the road for a long moment before proclaiming, “I have an idea.”

“Does it involve breaking the law?”

“By now, don't you think that's a given?”

“I was just trying to be optimistic.”

“Don't bother.”

“So?” I interrupted, eager to cause a little harmless chaos. “What's the plan?”

* * *

“ _This_ is the plan?”

Scott wasn't happy. I, on the other hand, was ecstatic. “As far as plans go, it could be worse,” I offered with a cheshire cat grin, hoping he would find some sense of comfort in my words.

He didn't.

“Are we doing this the vampire way or the good old fashioned human way?” I asked conversationally, crossing my arms over my chest and cocking my head at Stiles. He sent me a befuddled look. “Compulsion or hot-wiring?” I simplified, gesturing to the police transport vehicle sitting idle by the back entrance to the police station across the road from us, two officers standing outside of it, talking in low voices.

“Considering none of us can hot-wire a car...” he trailed off, eyes widening at my smug expression. “Let me get this straight, you don't know how to turn on a laptop, but you can _hot-wire_ a _car_?” My lips quirked up in a smirk. “Where the hell do your priorities lie?” he muttered to himself, running his palm down his face.

“Are we doing this or what?” Scott interjected, glancing uneasily at the policemen by the van.

“Is the little teen wolf afraid of getting caught?” I goaded him, and he sent me a sour glare that held no real malice in it. I smirked back widely, feeling more alive with each passing second. This was my element, this was where I excelled: the illegal and the immoral. This was my playground.

“Look, just go compel the drivers to give up the keys and make them think that they looked away for a moment and when they looked back it was gone, so when people do figure out it's missing there's a plausible reason,” Stiles instructed me, and I nodded, hands automatically going to the buttons of my shirt as I undid the top few, working my was down my chest. “What the _hell_ are you doing?” he squeaked, turning around to stare at me with wide eyes.

“On the off chance they have vervain, I need to act like I have a reason to be going up to them, especially if there are any cameras around here,” I told him, glancing down at my chest and the exposed edges of my lilac bra.

The air seemed to leave Stiles in a puff, then there was another squeaky noise as he tried to breathe in. I raised an eyebrow at him and Scott, who was politely staring at a lamppost across the street. Stiles was still wheezing a moment later, and I glanced up at him worriedly. He was staring resolutely at his shoes, that wave of colour once again creeping up from below his collar.

“Oh please, like you've never seen breasts before,” I said casually, rolling my eyes and prodding the edges of my tits, making them bounce slightly. I had to admit, for my age, they were pretty damn great. I smirked at my own pathetic joke. Scott sniggered awkwardly and Stiles flushed an even darker shade, glaring at his best friend in betrayal. “ _Oh_ ,” I mumbled, blinking at Stiles in surprise.

Stiles was a virgin.

Suddenly I understood his reactions more than I ever had before. I'd always known he was pure; innocent, in a way, I just hadn't known it was _this_ much. I wasn't totally sure what to do with this information.

“Look, are you going to compel the guards or what?” Stiles snapped irritably, crossing his arms over his chest.

“On it,” I nodded, suddenly feeling lighter than usual. There was a fluttering in my chest that I knew couldn't possibly be my unbeating heart. I spun around, striding across the road, forcing myself not to look back at the staring boys.

I approached the policemen slowly, a wide, breathtaking smile pasted forcibly across my lips. Purposefully making my shoes slap against the pavement, they looked up as I neared them. “Hello boys,” I greeted with a saccharine smile. “Could I have your help with something?”

“Ma'am?” the stockier one on the left said questioningly, tilting his head and fixing me with a dull hazel stare.

“I need to borrow your vehicle,” I told him, drawing him in easily, feeling the faint connection slap into place. The skinnier one to the right stepped forwards, but with a glance I had him under my control too. “If you'd be so kind as to hand over the keys?” I asked, holding out my hand, keeping the grin on my lips. Skinny pulled out a simple black leather keyring from his pocket, handing it over without a word. “Forget I was here,” I ordered them. “All you know is that the van went missing, and you don't know who took it.”

“We don't know who took it,” the heavier one parroted, and I blinked, instantly releasing them from my hold.

“Good boys,” I smirked, lifting my hand to shoe them away. “Now run along.”

They turned around, striding back into the building with dazed expressions on their stupid faces.

I spun back to face the boys who had clamoured out of the shadows, grinning at me widely. My lips twitched up and I couldn't be bothered forcing my smile down as I held up the keys to them, and they glinted in the streetlight. “Wanna go for a ride?” I asked cheekily, and the two glanced at each other in approval. Stiles reached out to take the keys, but I pulled my hand back, taking them with me. When I grinned, it was wide and dripping with mischief. “ _I'm_ driving.”

* * *

“You could have gone to school, you know,” Stiles told me as he jumped out of the back of the transport vehicle. I flashed a wide, haughty smirk at Jackson just before the doors shut in his face, quite enjoying the rage that flashed over his chiselled features.

“And leave you out here all on your lonesome?” I replied, letting my head bump back against the tree trunk I was leaning against and puffing idly on my cigarette. He shot me an exasperated look. “I have several Bachelor degrees under my belt,” I reminded him idly. “It's not like they can teach me anything I don't already know. Besides, it's not as if I actually have a future I can fuck up.”

He winced like he'd been stung but the expression dropped before I could ponder it further.

Allison and Scott were at school for the day, while Stiles and I had elected to stay back with Jackson in the prison transport vehicle I'd nicked. The sun was high in the sky, already beginning to drain at my energy even despite the daylight ring sat on my middle finger. I edged slightly into the shade just to be safe.

“You know, smoking is a disgusting habit,” Stiles said suddenly, grimacing down at the cigarette I had pinned between two fingers. Just to get on his nerves, I took a deep puff, blowing out the smoke with a self-satisfied smirk. “It's not healthy for you, either,” he added dryly. “Surely one of your Bachelor degrees taught you that.”

Despite myself I smiled. “Says the boy who once ate seven cups of chilli-cheese fries in one sitting,” I countered teasingly. He looked like he wanted to argue in his own defence, but I continued before he had the chance. “It's not doing me any harm, Stiles. The damage from the smoke heals instantly.”

“Why do you do it then?” he asked, confused by the fact. “Surely it can't be the taste,” he added with another grimace.

I chuckled, “no, it's definitely not the taste.” I paused, considering my reply carefully. The answer was simple to understand but complicated to admit. I didn't want to have to say the words, but I had a feeling he wasn't going to let up until he got what he wanted. He was annoyingly stubborn that way. “It's the chemicals,” I admitted quietly, staring at a tree in the distance in an attempt to avoid his gaze, “they calm me down; help with the cravings.”

I expected him to ask a thousand and one questions, but instead he just nodded his head like it made perfect sense and let us fall back into silence. It was peaceful, even with Stiles tapping his fingers against the side of the van, in an effort to pass the time with his sanity intact.

He was the first to break the quiet. “Why doesn't Jackson's venom work on you?” he asked curiously.

I glanced up at him in surprise. I hadn't really thought about it, but from what I knew of vampiric biology I was able to piece together a somewhat coherent explanation.

“I'd say it's because our hearts don't pump blood like yours do. The venom didn't have a way to circulate around my body, keeping it from paralysing me,” I explained. “After a while, of course, it sinks into the flesh, and the muscles and tissue; thus slowing the healing process.” I thought for another moment. “That's probably why I passed out back in the pool. That and the blood loss, I s'pose.”

He tilted his head, frowning as he tried to understand my words. “But the cigarettes...?” he trailed off in confusion. I knew what he meant immediately.

“Airborne and edible substances affect us – like smoke and alcohol – while injections and venoms don't.”

He seemed to take that in, nodding slowly as he thought it over. “That makes sense,” he finally decided but continued to frown.

“What?” I asked hesitantly, crushing the smoke in my hand and letting it drop to the earth.

“Why didn't you offer your blood to heal me?” he asked after a long moment, and I stilled, peering through the daylight at him, eyes narrowed and cautious. “A few days ago, after everything that happened at the pool,” he elaborated, although he needn't have. I knew exactly what he was talking about, remembered the taste of his blood as I ripped into his flesh in _excruciating_ detail. “It heals wounds; that's what you said, that your blood heals all wounds.”

“Come on,” I huffed, rolling my eyes in an attempt to seem nonchalant. “You're fine now. What does it matter?”

But Stiles wasn't buying it. “Jules,” he said, voice holding a weight it usually didn't.

I met his brown eyes, watching him wordlessly. I could go forty-eight hours without sleep no problem, but Stiles had deep, dark circles under his eyes, and he looked exhausted. I decided not to mention it, however, knowing he wouldn't take it well.

And so I decided to be honest. Because he deserved my honesty at the minimum.

“If you die with vampire blood in your system, it triggers the change,” I told him, remembering the day so many weeks ago when I'd told him the exact same thing. “What if you got into a car crash on the way home? What if you slipped and fell? What if one of the hundreds of other possible disasters happened to you while my blood was in your system?”

He didn't reply for a while, staring down at the ground. I could practically hear him thinking, and I dreaded whatever was going to come next. “You'd rather me be dead for good than be a vampire?” he finally asked and I flinched like I'd been struck.

The thought of Stiles dead in any way, shape or form absolutely killed me, made me ache deep in my hollow chest. “Of course not,” I breathed, taking a step away from the tree and tiptoeing closer to the tired human. “I assumed that's what _you'd_ rather,” I admitted quietly.

He looked surprised. “Why would I want that?” he asked. I came to a stop beside him, blinking up into his warm honey eyes.

I realised I didn't have a good answer, realised I'd made a decision for him that I had no business making. “Maybe I was just projecting,” I said with a sigh, trying to smile, the expression falling flat.

Something like pain crossed his face, like my words hurt him, though I wasn't sure why. He took a step closer, arms wrapping around my shoulders as he pulled me into a hug. I stayed frozen for a long moment, unsure how to react, before finally I relaxed into the embrace.

My face tucked naturally into the curve of his neck and I found that although the ache of hunger was present, it was easily ignorable. I breathed in his scent, moving passed the allure of his blood and focusing instead on the smell of curly fries and mint and chocolate that seemed to cling to him like a second skin. It was an odd combination, but not an entirely unpleasant one.

My arms slowly moved up to wind around his neck while his moved down to my waist. He squeezed a little tighter, but I didn't squeeze back, aware that one slip of careful control and I could crush his bones to dust. He rested his face in my hair, absentmindedly pressing his lips to the crown of my head, and I smiled silently into his collarbone, listening to his nervous breathing and racing heart but making no comment on it, just enjoying the moment of closeness for exactly what it was.

The sound of footsteps reached my ears, but I happily ignored them, unwilling to pull myself out of this human's warm, kind embrace.

“Hey,” Allison's voice said awkwardly. At the unexpected interruption Stiles jumped a mile high, ripping away from me like he'd been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. My arms dropped uselessly to my sides, and I felt confusingly cold without the contact.

“Oh my _God_ ,” he hissed, whirling around to glare at the pretty hunter girl.

“They know,” said Allison darkly. I turned to look at her with a frown.

“What?”

“They know Jackson's missing!”

“No, they can't. I've been texting his parents since last night. They don't have a clue.”

“My grandfather told me his parents went to the police,” she corrected him, glancing over her shoulder as though worried we were somehow being watched. “They _know_.”

I extended my senses and did a quick scan of the woods to make sure we were alone, just to be safe. And we were.

Stiles pulled the phone we stole off of Jackson out of his pocket, staring down at the little square of technology in something akin to horror. He dropped it instantly, and I plucked it out of the air with ease, saving it from smashing on the hard ground. He darted into the cab of the van, picking up the radio and turning it on.

We listened as the officer on the frequency instructed all units to our approximate location. It was an effort not to drop my face into my hands. This had gone south a whole lot quicker than I'd expected. I'd thought we'd have had another day or two before this all went to shit. Clearly, I was wrong.

“What the hell are we supposed to do now?” Allison demanded, tugging her beanie tighter around her face. As one, the two of them turned to look at me expectantly, as if I had all the answers. Suddenly I felt like a babysitter given authority I hadn't been expecting. I scowled at the feeling.

“We have to get out of here,” I told them, already making my way to the driver's side of the van. I'd covered up enough murders in my time to know where to go from here. What was the point in being a mass-murderer if you couldn't help your friends kidnap a kanima every now and again? “I'll take the van with Allison. Stiles, you need to drive your Jeep so it's not left here.”

“But do you have any idea where to go? You barely know how to get from school to your house,” Stiles pointed out, and I grit my teeth, not appreciating the way he was underestimating me. I was a vampire, not a toddler.

“I may not know the town like the back of my hand, but I do spend a hell of a lot of time skulking in these woods. I know all the good hiding spots,” I smirked.

He seemed reluctant, but it didn't take long to convince him to follow my lead. Grumbling under his breath, he moved over to his car, sliding into the driver's seat and slamming the door shut after him.

Allison climbed into the passenger seat of the van, glancing into the back anxiously. She was quiet as I steered the car through the trees, heading for the view point in the north. The cops wouldn't expect us to go somewhere so open, so it was probably our best bet. Besides, it had a great view of the town, and I was a sucker for a nice skyline.

“So, you and Stiles, huh?”

Allison's voice was playful and coy. I didn't bother replying, instead just staring straight ahead into the forest, the sky a burnt orange from the slowly setting sun.

“I definitely approve,” she continued lightly. It was clear trying to gain a response. I wasn't sure why she felt this was a good time to talk about this, but I felt like she was only going to get worse unless I responded.

“Oh, thank goodness for that,” I drawled flatly, going for scathing but apparently hitting amusing, because she giggled like I'd made a joke. “There is no _me and Stiles_ ,” I reminded her tightly. “There never will be.”

That last part only made something newly discovered within me twinge. I checked the mirror to hide my grimace.

“You guys are cute, though,” she told me with a blinding grin, as if that was enough to get passed his human penchant for dying and my unquenchable thirst for his blood.

I refused to glance at her, but she wasn't so easily deterred.

“He's different around you. Not in a bad way. He's still Stiles – when is he _not_?” she laughed lightly. “But he's...calmer. More at peace. Which I find strange considering you don't exactly give off a relaxing aura,” she chuckled, expecting me to laugh along with her.

I shot her my most flat, unimpressed stare. It only made her smile widen. I wondered what it was about Allison that made her so resistant to my glowers. She was brave down to her very core, and it only made me admire her more.

“See, that's what I mean,” she told me happily. “Y'know, Lydia once told me never to frown because 'somebody could be falling in love with your smile'.”

I looked over at her once more, this time with my sharpest, most dark smirk fixed on my lips – the one I reserved for the prey I was about to destroy – and she sighed, shaking her head as if thoroughly disappointed in my efforts.

“We'll work on it,” she reassured me.

I looked back out at the forest, allowing a brief but sincere grin to sit on my lips. Hell forbid Allison Argent knew that I actually liked her. I didn't want yet another urchin stuck to my belly – a werewolf and a human were enough, no sense adding a hunter to the list.

We parked at the spot I'd chosen, and I climbed out of the van without another word to Allison.

“Are you sure we're safe here?” Stiles asked as he met me at the edge of the cliff face. My eyes were on the sky, taking in the beautiful pastel shades of the sky as the sun descended behind the mountains.

“Safe is a relative term,” I replied distantly.

“All right, Mr Miyagi,” I could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Well, Scott texted. He says he's on his way for the night shift. You guys hungry? I was thinking of going to get us some food.”

Allison perked up before I could so much as say a word. “Jules can go with you!” she said happily. I turned on my heel to glower at her. She smiled, utterly unaffected. “I'll wait here with Jackson.”

Stiles frowned in concern. “You wanna take a shift alone?” he asked warily.

She smiled. “I can take care of myself,” she reminded him smoothly. “Besides, Scott shouldn't be too long.”

He hesitated. “Maybe we should wait for him to get here.”

Now Allison rolled her eyes. “Really, Stiles,” she huffed. “Go, get some food.”

He caved, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “All right,” he said, moving to his passenger side door and holding it open. I stared, wondering what he was doing, only to belatedly realise he was holding it open for _me._

If I had the ability to blush, my cheeks would have gone pink. As it was I just lifted my chin, ignored Allison's knowing smirk, and climbed into the jeep without a word to either of them.

The cab of the Jeep was silent, nothing but the steady beating of Stiles' heart and the rumbling of the engine filling the air. I wasn't in the mood to chat, and Stiles could sense the tension I was holding in my body.

Every now and then he would open his mouth, only to freeze and mumble incoherent before slipping back into silence again.

I felt bad for him, in a way. He had no idea why I wasn't talking as we usually did. He'd tried at first, cracking a tasteless joke about Jackson that usually would have at least warranted a smirk. Instead now he was only met with stony silence – one he hadn't done anything to deserve.

It was all Allison's fault.

I was happy living in ignorant bliss, spending time with Stiles without the terrifying pressure of... _feelings_ and _attraction._

I'd been in love before. 200 plus years and it'd come up once or twice.

I wasn't sure I could say any of my past relationships were healthy, however. Most were driven by bloodlust and a craving for power. They were controlling and toxic and motivated by sex and hunger. There was nothing sweet or pure about them.

And outside of those fleeting, inconsequential relationships was one that stood out above the rest.

My first love, the love that made me who I was today. Looking back, I knew now it was more about fascination and control than it was about actual love. But at the time I'd been enamoured, intoxicated by the feelings and by the power he had given me. Without him, I wouldn't be here today. Without him, I wouldn't have been a vampire.

I snapped back to reality before the nightmares could take hold, jolting myself back into the familiar cab of the Jeep to find myself glaring out the window with my hands curled into tight fists. I forced myself to relax, taking a deep breath more for comfort than necessity, inhaling Stiles' familiar scent. It was both calming and enticing in the same moment, and I bit my lip until I tasted my own blood.

_Was_ there something more than just friendship between Stiles and I?

Vampires had flings with humans all the time – it was all part of the fun, really – but I didn't plan on fucking Stiles until I was sick of him, then draining the life from his body as if it were mine to take. But Stiles wasn't interested in screwing around. I knew him like I hadn't known anyone before. He wanted a girlfriend, not a sex toy.

I didn't know how to be a girlfriend – it would be utterly new territory to me. Was it even _possible_? What was it like to love without wanting control? Without wanting absolute power? What was it like to love selflessly? Some days I feared I'd never know.

But was Stiles what I wanted? I wasn't sure. I hadn't considered it in these terms before, hadn't allowed myself to think of Stiles as anything other than a friend. Did I want more with him – with _anyone_?

And, more pressingly, what did _Stiles_ want?

“What do you want?”

My head snapped to the left, blinking with wide eyes at the waiting human who was staring at me expectantly. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. How had he known? Did I say something aloud?

“From the drive-through,” he elaborated when met with my blank expression. I looked passed him, eyes focusing on the box and set of menus we were parked beside, the crackle of the speakers making me twitch.

“Nothing,” I answered once I'd found my voice.

Stiles rolled his eyes, a meek smile appearing on his lips as he pushed through the awkwardness I was causing. “Come on,” he said lightly. I opened my mouth to argue, but he interrupted me before I could. “I know you like Burger King – so just pick something.”

I shot him a look complete with narrowed eyes and a scowl. I didn't like being told what to do.

Stiles rolled his eyes again, and I got the feeling it was becoming something of a routine with us. “I know you don't _need_ it,” he huffed, taking the words from my mouth. “But I know you'd probably _enjoy_ it. So would you just pick something already?” he persisted.

I took a deep breath. It just wasn't worth the bickering; not tonight. “I'll have whatever you're having,” I caved with a scowl. He nodded happily, leaning back out the window and ordering our meals, as well as extra for Scott and Allison.

I took the bags from him as we drove away, balancing them in my lap as I stared out the window into the darkness, finding comfort in how it pressed around me, keeping me safe and hidden. I guess that was another thing that didn't mix well between Stiles and I.

I was made for the darkness; he belonged in the light.

There was a question I needed to ask. It gnawed at my insides like a virus, pressing me to find the truth before the fear of the unknown threatened to overtake me completely. I didn't like not knowing things; it made me feel unsafe. How could I protect myself without all the information? Without all the pieces to the puzzle, I was vulnerable.

And if my sire had taught me anything, it was the vulnerability wasn't an option.

“Why are you wearing the vervain?”

Stiles jumped when I spoke, having gotten so used to my silence that it took him by surprise. He took another moment to process what I'd asked him, and once he did his heart sped up in his chest.

His mouth opened and closed, but he didn't seem to be able to find the words. I decided to help him along. I was, after all, after some rather specific answers.

“Are you afraid of me?” I asked, the words simple and plain. I needed to know now, before I was drawn any deeper under Stiles' hold.

“ _No_!” he said it so suddenly and with such vehemence that I blinked in surprise. His heart continued to race, and one of my eyebrows cocked in curiosity at him panic. “Of _course_ I'm not afraid of you Jules,” he told me, voice thick with conviction. He looked away from the dark road to glance at me, but my face was barely illuminated by the glow of his headlights, and he squinted through the gloom to try and find my eyes.

I met his stare, cutting through the shadows like they weren't there. “You just don't trust me,” I said, and it wasn't a question.

I couldn't blame him, no matter how much I wanted to. The fact of the matter was that he was right; I _couldn't_ be trusted. It was better for him to fear me. It was the natural order of things. Prey should always be afraid of predator; it was the way the food chain worked.

“I trust you more than anyone,” Stiles insisted, though I thought that was laying it on a little thick. He stared back through the dark, sincere and imploring, and I let myself wonder for a moment whether he were telling the truth. He took a deep, steadying breath. “It's the _others_ of your kind that I don't trust.”

I remained silent, considering his words, chewing over them in the quiet. He quickly grew nervous in the absence of conversation.

“You know that, right?” he asked impatiently. “You know that I'm not afraid of you?” I refused to open my mouth. “Hate to break it to you Jules, but you're not actually all that scary-” I cut him off with my most lethal glare, lip curling back to flash him my pointed fangs. “O-okay, so maybe you're a _little_ scary,” he conceded. I couldn't even find it within me to feel smug at my win. “But-but it doesn't matter that you're scary, because I _trust_ you, and _that's_ what matters.”

He said it with such conviction, such heart, that I almost found myself believing his words. I turned away, eyes flickering up to the sky where the stars sparkled like diamonds.

“Whatever you say, kid,” I said dispassionately, although inside my chest felt too tight and my skin buzzed with awareness. I stopped breathing all together in an effort to keep his intoxicating scent from swirling in my head anymore than it already was.

It was quiet again, neither of us quite sure what to say after that mess of a conversation. I leaned my forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the trees fly past as Stiles drove us up the mountain, through the forest. We parked opposite the van, and as soon as I cracked the door I was hit with a stench that made me nearly want to retch.

“Ugh,” I gagged in disgust as I jumped from the jeep to glare at Scott's car, which sat across the small clearing, two figures inside, the windows all steamed up.

“What?” Stiles asked worriedly, spinning in a circle as if expecting someone to leap from the woods and attack us.

“It reeks of werewolf sex,” I cringed, making a point to breathe through my mouth to avoid getting hit with the scent.

Stiles smiled. “Go Scotty,” he said proudly. I rolled my eyes and turned away, focusing in on the heartbeat that should have been beating from within the transport van. Only it wasn't there. I tuned out the sound of Stiles' breathing and tried again, but again I was left empty handed.

There was nothing there. Either Jackson was dead in the back of that van, or he was no longer in our hold.

“Stiles,” I said, reappearing in front of the broken back doors of the police transport vehicle, staring at the empty inside with a scowl. I wasn't afraid to admit I'd have rathered the former be true. “We have a big problem.”


	21. Demon Limbs

_Oh I know_

_I can feel the shifting in my bones_

_Enclosed are the senses so unknown_

_I've been changing, falling, fading_

_There's demons at the door patiently waiting_

Demon Limbs – PVRIS

* * *

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

My eyes slipped open and I raised my head from where it rested on the edge of my tub. I felt somewhat guilty about leaving Stiles and Scott to be the ones to let the sheriff in on the supernatural secret, but Stiles assured me his dad would probably take to werewolves a hell of a lot easier than vampires.

Besides, I wasn't about to be the one to expose us. If consequences came from this, as far as I was concerned I had nothing to do with it. And maybe that was a little harsh, and Scott and Stiles were my friends, but that didn't mean I was about to throw myself under the bus for their mistakes.

Stiles' dad; Stiles' responsibility.

I'd come straight home, happy to take off my shoes and draw a lavender bath, letting myself soak in the scolding hot water. I considered not answering the door, letting whomever it was find me another time, but when there were only more impatient knocks I reluctantly stood, bathwater dripping down my body.

I reached a hand out, plucking my favourite satin robe from where it lay over on the rack and slipping it over my naked form before sliding from the room, making it to my front door before whoever it was could knock again.

I made sure the sash was tied tightly, covering everything vital before pulling open the door, raising an eyebrow at a surprised Stiles.

He was silent, staring at me with wide, chocolate eyes. I said nothing, waiting impatiently for him to speak. Clearly he wanted something.

“You're wet,” he finally announced. I merely cocked my head, waiting for him to elaborate. “Were you swimming?” he asked dumbly.

“I was in the bath, moron,” I snapped without any real bite, stepping aside and gesturing lazily for him to come in.

“I can't stay long,” he told me, shoving his hands into his pockets and staring resolutely at the far wall. “Dad's expecting me home in twenty minutes.”

“Well?” I prompted him when he didn't say anything. “How did it go?”

“We didn't tell him.”

I paused, taken by surprise. “Oh?” I ended up saying, crossing my arms over my chest. “What happened?”

“Long story short: the kanima needs a master and Jackson has a restraining order against us.”

I waited, this time patiently, but it didn't seem to get any clearer with time. “Excuse me?” I asked, waiting for a more substantial explanation.

“Ugh,” he groaned, running his palm down his face. “I don't know where to begin.”

“Okay, how about with the kanima? It needs a _master_?”

“So Allison met up with Lydia, who it turns out can read archaic latin,” he disclosed, leaning his weight against my entry wall and for a moment seeming to forget I wasn't wearing more than a thin robe of satin. “Miss Morrell got it wrong. It doesn't say the kanima needs a friend. It says it needs a master.”

“So someone's controlling him?” I asked, just to be certain, frowning down at my feet as I began to put it all together.

From my peripheral vision I saw Stiles nod. “Must be.”

I sighed, processing that as best I could before deciding to move on. “And what's this about a restraining order?” I asked, rightfully amused.

“Yeah,” he groaned again. His shoulders slumped with exhaustion. “Jackson ran right to his lawyer dad, and now Scott and I aren't allowed within fifty feet of him,” he grumbled petulantly.

“What about me?” I demanded. Surely I'd been included – it was strange, I'd never had a restraining order filed against me before. The whole thing actually felt kind of thrilling.

But it wasn't meant to be. “Uh, they didn't mention you,” Stiles said, seeming to only just realise so himself.

I balked at the information. “Why wouldn't he mention me?” I asked as if he knew the answer. Surely Jackson wasn't fond enough of me to keep me out of the fire. So what was the little prick's motive behind it all? What game was he playing? Already, I didn't like it.

“Beats me,” Stiles shrugged, then glanced down at his phone with a curse. “I have to get home or dad's gonna kill me. I'll pick you up in the morning,” he added distractedly.

“Sure,” I responded, still reeling from the barrage of information I'd just received. “See you then,” I said absently as he dashed out the door, heading for the jeep parked on the curb. I watched him get inside and start the engine before I closed the door, perfectly content to get right back to my bath.

* * *

It felt like mere minutes until I saw him again, as if one second I closed the door and the next he was there, like a fly I couldn't swat away. But I couldn't pretend I didn't like it; I wasn't used to being someone people sought out. It was kind of nice to know I crossed his mind.

What he came to me with, however, was decidedly not nice.

“I need you to steal Lydia's bracelet, then compel her to tell me everything she knows about Jackson's parents,” he began, sliding up beside me in the hall as he expertly dodged a huge kid in a letterman jacket. I turned away from my locker, leaning against the wall with a furrowed brow.

“Her bracelet?” I asked, not following.

“Yeah,” he muttered awkwardly. He wasn't meeting my eyes, so I knew I wasn't going to like whatever followed. “I gave Allison a bracelet full of vervain to give Lydia,” he confessed, eyes screwed up like he was worried I'd hit him in retaliation. “Just, you know, to be safe,” he muttered.

I knew why he was worried about my reaction. I could so easily be offended by such a thing, but instead I understood. It made sense, and I just had to remind myself that it wasn't for protection from _me._ Vampires weren't a tame species, and any safeguards put in place were nothing but a good idea.

Because you should never trust a vampire, not even a pacified one. And I should know.

“Hate to break it to you, but if it's laced with vervain I won't be able to touch it,” I told him simply. He was surprised that I didn't have anything to say about the vervain, but his shoulders slumped with relief. I got the feeling he didn't like confrontation.

“We have to try.”

I suddenly realised I was missing some pieces of the puzzle. “Why are we doing this, exactly?” I asked around a frown.

He paused, seeing the hole in his plan. “Oh,” he muttered, grasping my arm and leading me away from the crowd of students filling the hall. He leant us both against the wall where we were less likely to be overheard. “So the kanima is _meant_ to be a werewolf, but because of something in its personality or state of mind that-”

“I already know all of this,” I cut him off impatiently.

“You do?” he frowned. “How?”

“I've known what a kanima was since the nineteenth century,” I told him with a shrug. “I've just never seen one in person, so I didn't know this was what we were dealing with until Derek told us. What I _don't_ know is what Captain Douche-Bag's parents have to do with him being the kanima.”

“It's Allison's theory,” he explained. “She thinks whatever happened to his birth parents is what's keeping him from transforming into a werewolf.”

As far as theories went, it wasn't the worst one I'd ever heard.

I opened my mouth, but before I could comment Stiles suddenly snapped to attention, spinning around and calling after Lydia, who had just strutted past, eyes on her cell phone.

But he'd barely taken a step when a hand slammed into his chest, shoving him back against the bricks. I whirled around to hiss at the culprit – Erica, why was I not surprised? – lip curling back just enough to expose the tips of my fangs, a warning.

To my great frustration, Erica ignored me completely. “Why are you asking Lydia about Jackson's real parents?” she demanded of Stiles.

But Stiles didn't seem worried. “Why are you bringing out the claws on camera?” he countered calmly. I realised what he meant – the new surveillance system hiding in every corner of this building from hell. I sealed my lips, covering my sharp fangs just as Erica balled her hand into a fist, a glaring resentment on her face. “That's right, you wanna play Catwoman? I'll be your Batman,” he said smugly.

There was a sour curdling deep in my gut, and I winced at the force of it. Wiping my face clean of emotion, the blank glare I was most comfortable with settled perfectly onto my face. I was surprised, then, when Stiles' hand found mine, skin warm with life.

He began to pull me in the other direction, away from a glowering Erica and the potential fight waiting to happen.

“If you're wondering about Jackson's real parents, they're about half a mile from here,” the she-wolf called after us. Stiles froze, turning around to fix her with a look of confusion. When Erica spoke next, her voice rang with the kind of smug satisfaction that came from knowing something someone else doesn't. “In Beacon Hills Cemetery.”

I wasn't watching, but I heard the sound of her towering heels clicking against the linoleum floor as she strutted away. Stiles made to pull me after her, eager to get answers, but I the sound of a fight from further down the hall met my ears, the voices involved all familiar.

“Go,” I told him, pulling my hand from his and beginning down the hall at an irritatingly human pace. “I'll catch up.”

“What?” he call after me, but I'd already melted into the crowd.

I jogged to get there faster, letting the sounds of fists meeting flesh and grunts of pain to guide me, and finally I burst into the locker room, eyes turning crimson as the smell of freshly spilled blood wafted over me.

“Goddammit, boys,” I hissed, spying Jackson and Scott going head to head across the other side of the locker room. Blood poured from Jackson's nose, and the stench of it made my nose burn, as dead and unappealing as it was.

“Jules!” came a small voice, and I spun on my heel to see Allison crouched in the corner, eyes wide with fear and panic as she helplessly watched the fight before her.

I moved too quickly, making her flinch when I seemed to materialise beside her, and I fixed my features into an apologetic look. “Are you okay?” I asked, crouching by her side, my eyes flickering over her body.

I couldn't smell any of her human blood, but that didn't mean she was totally unharmed.

“You have to stop them!” she shouted at me rather than answer, the words almost lost under the loud crashing of a nearby porcelain sink. Jackson had smashed Scott against it, and the whole thing had shattered into a thousand little pieces.

When I'd woken up that morning, putting a stop to a fight between a werewolf and a kanima wasn't how I'd pictured my day going, but, y'know: c'est la vie.

In the blink of Allison's eye I had Scott by the collar. With a lazy tug of my arm I yanked him backwards, vaguely hearing the wall behind him crack as he slammed against it, tiles shattering under his weight. I turned around on Jackson, skin prickling with anticipation of a fight.

  
Scott I would never hurt; but this lizard? All bets were off.

“I'm not going to hit you,” Jackson said with an ugly grimace, wiping at the blood around his mouth.

“Okay,” I responded without missing a beat, barely giving him time to take a breath before rearing my arm back and slamming my fist into his face with nearly full strength.

Jackson stumbled backwards, bringing up a hand to his jaw. It should have knocked him out, but then again, I supposed kanima's were probably made of stronger stuff than regular humans.

To my immense delight, he seemed to have changed his mind about hitting me. A moment later he swung around, fast enough to catch me by surprise and landing a punch to my face. My head snapped to the side by my feet didn't give. My jaw ached like a bitch, but even despite the pain I smiled, wide and full of wicked, bloodthirsty excitement.

I'd never fought a kanima before, and I couldn't help but be thrilled at the opportunity to experience it. Plus there was something so intrinsically satisfying about punching something wearing Jackson's face. Prick.

“Jules!” Allison called out again, this time aghast. I understood her frustration. I'd come to stop the fighting, and now I'd enthusiastically joined in. But it couldn't be helped. What did she want me to do, deny my very nature as a vampire?

I swiped at Jackson but he dodged it with surprising speed. Raising a leg to kick him in the kidney, I growled when he instead caught my ankle, using my own momentum to pick me up and slam me back down into the hard tiles which cracked around me in a crater like I was a meteor hitting the earth.

Stunned by the smart, unexpected move, I blinked up at the ceiling for a moment, waiting until my vision stopped blurring.

Scott used the opportunity to get back in on the action.

He ran at Jackson, punching him full in the mouth. Shaking my head and wishing away the dizziness, I flipped up to my feet, refusing to let the wolf have all the damn fun.

With the kanima distracted by Scott, I had the chance to land a kick to hit crotch that sent him sprawled on the floor. I let out a hiss of animalistic delight, but the kanima recovered quickly, kicking out a leg and taking my feet from under me, sending me to the floor. He was fast, a moment later he was on top of me and his fist had slammed into my mouth. I felt my lip split but barely gave it a thought, landing a punch of my own to his chin.

While he was holding his bruised jaw in pain, I shoved him carelessly to the side, taking Scott's offered hand and letting him pull me to my feet. Jackson, once again, recovered with supernatural speed.

“Scott! Jules!” Allison cried out, and as I glanced back at her, I realised she was right. We weren't exactly in an environment where we could just fight like this. We were in a high school for fuck sake. I'd had my little bit of fun, now it was time to end this.

I darted closer to him and he swiped a hand at me, I ducked under it and gripped his wrist, twisting it around until I heard it give a satisfying pop. The kanima whipped out of my hold, other hand coming up lightning fast, landing yet another punch to my jaw.

Fuck this. I ran at him, so fast he didn't have a hope of seeing me coming. I slammed into him, breaking the door behind him off of its hinges, sending us flying out into the hallway. I landed on top of him and brought my fist back, punching him squarely in the nose. Not hard enough to break it, just hard enough to give him a jolt and for it to hurt like a son of a bitch.

“ _Jules_?!” a familiar voice screeched, but I paid Stiles no attention. The next second Scott was tumbling out the broken door, slamming into me accidentally as he tried to land another hit on Jackson's annoyingly handsome face. I rolled off the kid, sliding to my feet and nonchalantly kicking my boot into his side, making the kanima groan in agony as the ribs cracked under my shoe.

An arm wrapped securely around my waist and though my instinct was to fight it, when I inhaled Stiles' scent I knew I couldn't risk hurting him and so I allowed myself to go limp.

“Enough!” the sneering voice of Harris shouted furiously, stalking into the hall with all the authority he could muster – which honestly wasn't much. “What the _hell_ do you idiots think you're doing?! Jackson, calm down! McCall, you want to explain yourself? Cooper? Stilinski?” he demanded.

None of us answered, and the bird-like teacher only grew more irate.

“You, you and _you_ ,” the teacher growled, shoving a bony finger towards each of us. I glared back at him, raising a hand to my mouth and nonchalantly wiping at the blood there. My lip had already healed, so I'd just play the blood off as somebody else's. “Actually, _all_ of you. Detention. Three o'clock,” he snapped, eyes darting to the kanima. “Jackson, go to the nurse for the nose.”

Jackson looked like that was the last thing he wanted to be doing, but even he wasn't stupid enough to disagree with a teacher. “Yes, sir,” he grunted, wiping at his bloodied nose.

“I'll be speaking with the principal about this,” Harris added in a sneer, as though that was meant to scare us.

I said nothing, knowing that if I opened my mouth an inhuman noise was bound to come out. With a final glare, Harris stalked away, shoving Jackson along with him in the direction of the nurses' office.

“What the hell happened?” Stiles demanded, rounding on us with wide, startled eyes.

Scott just sighed, reaching up to rub at the bruise beginning to form around his eye. “Not now, Stiles,” he said tiredly. “I'll explain later.”

Stiles looked like he definitely had a few choice words about that, but he said none of them, eyes flickering over to me. I met his stare without blinking, confused when he grimaced like he were in pain.

“Fine,” Stiles said to Scott, sounding very much like a petulant child as he did. “Come on,” he added to me.

“Huh?” I asked inelegantly.

Stiles frowned. “You're covered in blood,” he whispered.

I blinked, reaching up to my face to find blood coating my fingers when I pulled back. “Oh,” I murmured. “It's okay, it's mostly my own,” I told him, glancing over my shoulder to see Allison and Scott whispering across from us, frowns on their faces. My ears were still ringing from the fight, but I didn't care much to listen in anyway.

Stiles rolled his eyes in exasperation. “You still need to wash it off,” he said, casting the nearby gaggle of curious teenagers a wary look.

I understood, then, and nodded my head, letting him lead me back through the crowd which parted like the souls in the Underworld for Hades. I didn't look at any of them, but thankfully they were too nervous to ask me what had happened. I gathered that talking to someone covered in blood probably wasn't what they wanted to be seen doing.

The bathrooms were around the corner, and thankfully the hallway was void of life. Stiles reached out to take my hand in his own, gripping it as he tugged me into the men's room. I cringed at the stench of the place, but Stiles didn't even flinch, more used to it and less sensitive than me.

He let my hand go and stepped deeper into the room to check it was empty. I already knew it was, but let him work in silence. Finally he locked the door behind us, sealing us in the room.

“Does it hurt?” Stiles asked quietly as he reached for the paper towel dispenser. I hesitantly hefted myself up onto a dry patch on the counter beside the sink, watching him work. He pulling out a the paper towels and went about wetting them in the sink.

“Nah,” I told him with a shrug of my shoulder.

He didn't look pleased by my answer – which I didn't understand, but I understood very little about what he did, so that wasn't all that surprising – turning to face me. He stepped closer, dropping his bag to the floor with a clunk and settling himself between my knees.

I blinked at the intimate position, but he didn't seem to realise what he was doing yet, all his focus on my mangled face.

He reached up with the wet paper towel, beginning to drag it along the length of my sloping jaw. I was very careful not to move. His scent suddenly overwhelmed me, eclipsing the stench of the men's room entirely. All I could think about was mint and chocolate. My mouth began to water.

“What were you thinking?” Stiles asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“That it'd been awhile since I got into a fight,” I replied honestly. “And that I wasn't about to leave Scott to fight him on his own. What kind of friend would that make me?” I asked, the question a genuine one. This was what friends did, wasn't it? They tag teamed in fights? It sounded about right.

Stiles, however, didn't look impressed. “You looked like you were having the time of your life,” he muttered, eyes focused solely on his task, wiping away the blood beginning to dry on my face. “Fights aren't meant to be fun.”

I couldn't help but snort. “You clearly don't know much about vampires,” I told him lightly.

He smiled, but there was something slightly off about the expression. “No,” he agreed, “I guess I don't.”

I couldn't figure out why he was so quiet. I watched him as he worked, ignoring the subtle drag of his fingers against my skin and the way it made goosebumps appear across my arms and down my spine.

His eyes suddenly went wide, and he stared hard at my face. I could feel a flicker of gentle heat across the bone of my jaw, and knew it was healing. He was watching the bruises on my skin disappear before him eyes, and he looked fascinated. Like someone seeing the aurora borealis for the first time. Like someone looking at something beautiful.

“Your bruises are fading,” he told me as he stared.

I didn't smile; I couldn't find the will. I just watched him watch me, oddly content to hover in silence. The weight of his eyes on me was soothing, rather than uncomfortable. I wondered why.

His fingertips came up to trace the fading bruises on my jaw, and this time there was no charade of wiping the blood to hide what he was doing. He simply watched, awed as the bruises melted away like the burning wax of a candle.

While he traced my skin, my eyes wandered his face, taking in the plush pink of his lips and the moles that decorated him like constellations.

Our eyes met suddenly; unexpectedly. The moment so singular it made me stop breathing all together. His heart sped up, racing in his chest, and his pupils were blown.

There was a flash within me, a few moments where I honestly wasn't sure whether I wanted to kiss him or bite him – maybe a combination of both? As a vampire, all emotions channelled into one thing and one thing only: hunger.

He licked his lips nervously, and without my permission my eyes drifted down to them. I let myself wonder, just for a split second, what it might be like to have them against my own. So warm and soft and _human._

A jarring bang on the bathroom door broke us from our stupor, and Stiles ripped away from me like he'd been burned.

“Who the fuck locked the door?” a deep voice asked from out in the hall. They banged on the wood again. “Is anyone in there? Are you getting some?” they demanded obnoxiously.

I slid off the counter, landing on the grimy bathroom floor silently. I didn't meet Stiles' eyes as I flitted to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open.

The kid on the other side was someone from the lacrosse team. I didn't recognise him, but that didn't matter. I met his stare, my own evening out into nothing. “You saw nothing,” I commanded him.

His stare went flat and vacant. “I saw nothing,” he parroted obediently.

“Good boy,” I muttered, distracted as I shouldered my way from the room, glad to escape from Stiles, his mouthwatering scent and his whisky gold eyes.

* * *

I met up with Stiles again at the end of school, near his locker before we were set to go to detention. His cheeks went a blotchy pink when he saw me, but he didn't mention anything about earlier, and neither did I. It seemed we were both content to live with simply sweeping it under the rug.

“Did you get anything out of Erica?” I asked him, gripping the strap of my bag as we headed in the direction of the detention room.

Stiles snorted indelicately. “Just that Jackson's parents are dead, and that apparently she used to have a crush on me,” he said with a huff, cheeks still that blotchy pink.

I frowned. “Uh, wait a moment,” I murmured, stunned by the information. “She held _affection_ for you?”

It wasn't as hard to imagine as it probably should have been. If I tried, I could see what Erica had seen: a cute, clumsy, sweet guy, who was passionate about everything he did, and was too curious for his own good. If any part of me remained human, I might almost be able to say I felt the same.

But that part of me died a long, long time ago. And thinking about such things invited in nothing but trouble.

Stiles snorted again, this time at my expense. “We're not in the 1800's anymore, Jules,” he said with a playful roll of his eyes. “Just say she was into me.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You seem awfully cocky about it,” I observed.

His blush went from pink to red. “Well … it's flattering, y'know?” he mumbled, reaching up to scratch nervously at his neck. “Can we get back on topic?”

I reluctantly relented. “So Jackson's parents are dead?”

He nodded. “Dead as a doornail,” he said with a cheerfulness that greatly contrasted his words. “Which means that likely isn't what's turned him into a lizard.”

I frowned, brows furrowing as I considered what this meant. We arrived at the classroom holding our detention, and I grimaced as I saw Erica and Jackson were already there. By silent agreement, Stiles and I fell silent as we slipped into the room. We moved towards the desks at the front of the room, but Harris stopped us with a sneer.

“Stilinski, you're there,” he said shortly. “Cooper, you're in the back beside Reyes.”

I didn't know who he meant for a moment, but then the blonde werewolf I so loathed lifted her head and smirked at me. Stiles hesitated where he stood, looking between us cautiously. “Don't let her get to you,” he whispered to me as if Erica couldn't hear every word.

I levelled him with an unimpressed stare. “I think I can handle myself,” I assured him. He still looked reluctant, but Harris cleared his throat obnoxiously and with a sigh of acceptance Stiles dropped into his assigned seating.

I dropped into the desk to the right of Erica, kicking my feet up on the chair beside me. Scott was the last one through the door, and Harris directed him into the spot beside Stiles – which was wildly unfair, in my opinion – before announcing detention had begun.

From beside me Erica picked lazily at her nails. I stopped breathing, the stench of dog in the room overpowering, not to mention the way Jackson reeked like toxic waste.

“Aren't you meant to be, like, really old?” Erica asked suddenly. I blinked, turning my head just enough to look at her. Her eyes were on her immaculate nails, which she was toying with primly.

“Excuse me?” I asked, regrettably using up the last of my air. I scowled as I realised I'd have to breathe in the clashing scent of the racially-mixed classroom.

“Well, you couldn't win against the kanima, and he wasn't even fully transformed,” she said, voice saccharine like sugar, and my gums tingled, urging me to tear open her abdomen to see if her insides were as ugly as her personality. “You mustn't be very strong,” she sang.

I flashed my teeth, but she wasn't even looking. “Strong enough to kill you, if it came down to it,” I assured her. She didn't so much as flinch, and I knew that if I didn't get the upper hand now, I'd just act out violently further down the track. “I heard about your pathetic little crush on Stiles,” I murmured, the words ringing with false innocence.

Erica's smirk dropped, and I felt a flare of hot victory in my gut before the expression flickered back to life. But even that couldn't mask the way her heart skipped a beat at my words. “We should start a club,” she told me, returning her attention to her nails.

I cocked a single eyebrow in reply. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” she continued, “a club for people who have feelings for Stiles.” She paused, looking up at me and fluttering her stupid lashes. “You could be the president,” she sang smugly.

I was very careful not to so much as twitch in reaction. “Bitch, what are _you_ smoking?” I asked her, lips twitching upwards mockingly. She smirked to herself and returned her attention to her nails.

With her distracted, I couldn't help but chance a glance over to where Stiles sat beside Scott, the pair talking in low tones. As if sensing my eyes on him, Stiles looked up to meet my gaze across the room. He smiled, just a small twitch of his lips and flash of his eyes, and I wondered whether he was thinking of earlier today, in the boys' bathroom.

I was glad, suddenly, that I had no heartbeat to give me away.

“Deny it all you like,” drawled Erica, and I looked back to find she'd caught me looking at him. I scowled at my own stupidity. “I see the way you look at him,” she whispered knowingly, like this alone had me exposed. As if it were _proof._ “It's the way I used to look at him, too.”

“I don't recall denying it,” I retorted without stopping to think. All I was doing now was fighting to regain control of the conversation, and I'd admit to nearly anything if I could do that. Erica raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow at me, glossy lips pulling up into a triumphant smirk.

“He doesn't feel the same way, you know,” Erica whispered, giddy with what she was saying. She actually thought she could top me with her words; that she could play games with me and _win_. It was laughable. “He's in love with Lydia,” she goaded me. “He always will be. You're nothing but the creepy bloodsucker who's too obsessed for her own good.”

I laughed, the sound loud enough that it drew the attention of Stiles, the only person in the room apart from Harris who didn't have supernatural hearing. I ignored him, looking over at Erica, a wicked smirk blooming to life on my lips.

“Are you trying to get a reaction from me?” I asked, amusement dripping from the words. Her smug expression melted into something resembling a scowl. “Honey,” I said, thick with condescension, eyes shimmering with crimson, “I'm _much_ too old for that shit to work. If you think Derek's _bitch_ is going to come up with anything good enough to make me snap, then you clearly have no fucking idea what you're dealing with.”

I spoke a little louder than I should have, and by now the whole room was staring at me. I kept my eyes on Erica, who seemed to have gone pale at the sharpness of my words and the flash of danger she saw in my eyes.

“Ms Cooper?” said Harris from his place up the front. He looked mightily uncomfortable, which meant I was doing something right. “Am I going to have to switch your seat?”

“No need,” I replied without looking away from Erica, a challenge in my eyes. “We're done here.”

Erica looked about ready to blow a gasket, and I loved every single moment, eating it up like it were the very blood I survived on.

She might have been a wolf now, but unlike me, she was still very much a teenager. And teenagers weren't going to risk something like trouble from a teacher, just to win a battle of wills with me. I'd won this time, and she knew it. I sat back with a simmering satisfaction.

A pained groan echoed around the room, coming from Jackson behind me. I threw a lazy, unconcerned glance over my shoulder, hoping I'd done lasting damage when I'd hit him earlier – only to see him holding his head in a place I hadn't hit.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he told Harris, already grabbing his bag and moving across the room, slightly too fast for a human. But for once exposure didn't worry me as it always did. Let the lizard expose himself; I'd just keep to the shadows and let the humans come after him with pitchforks and torches.

Fuck knew I'd seen it happen before; it'd be a laugh to see it happen again.

“Are you alright?” Harris asked him in a moment of uncharacteristic compassion. “You don't look so good.”

“Yeah, I'm just going to get some water,” Jackson said curtly, already half out of the room.

Harris followed the boy, throwing us a stern order to stay in our seats as he left. A moment later the terrific twosome were out of their chairs and across the room, Scott sliding gracefully into the open seat next to me while Stiles stumbled clumsily into the one opposite me, kicking off my legs and sitting down, barely throwing me a glance, too preoccupied with his task.

“Stiles says you know how Jackson's parents died,” Scott said to Erica, clearly making use of their unsupervised time. I sunk lower in my seat, tipping my head back and holding my breath again. It was better than the face full of wet dog I was getting when I breathed.

Erica stared back at them, indifferent. “Maybe,” she said vaguely.

“Talk,” he tried to order her, but it was weak at best.

She smirked. “No.”

“ _Talk,_ ” I commanded, the sound like a snarling animal. The sound of it almost made Stiles jump in his seat, and I couldn't help but feel just a little bit bad.

“What are you going to do? Bite me on camera?” Erica asked smartly, glancing pointedly at the camera in the far corner, pointed directly at us, capturing every single moment.

I looked back at her, curling my lips back to reveal my fangs, angled away from the lens of the camera, but in full sight of her. “You don't want to know how far I'll go,” I warned her, meaning every single word.

She paled a little more, although that haughty expression never left her face. She was trying so hard to appear unaffected. It would have been cute had it not been so pathetic. In the end she relented, clearly seeing it was more trouble than it was worth.

“It was a car accident,” she divulged, attention on Stiles, clearly the only one of us she could stand to talk to. “My dad was the insurance investigator. Every time he sees Jackson drive by in his Porsche, he makes some comment about the huge settlement he'll be getting when he's eighteen.”

“So, not only is Jackson rich _now_ , he's getting even _richer_ at eighteen?” Stiles asked sourly, grimacing at the very thought.

Erica smirked. “Yep.”

“There's something so deeply wrong with that.”

“You know what? I could try and find the insurance report in my dads inbox. He keeps everything,” Erica muttered as she pulled her laptop from her bag, opening it up and beginning to type away at the keys.

“ _Scott McCall, please report to the principal's office._ ”

The three of us were quiet, glancing at each other warily while Erica continued to tap away at her computer. “Well,” I murmured, peeking up at the speaker system like it was to blame for our bad luck, “that certainly can't be good.”

Scott's heart leapt with panic. “What do I do?” he pleaded, blinking at me as though I had all the answers.

I shrugged. “You go, obviously. Don't bother avoiding it. It'll only make it worse in the end.”

“She's right, man,” Stiles agreed. “Just, don't let him back you into a corner, figuratively _or_ literally.”

“And don't show fear,” I added with a nod. “In my experience, hunters can smell it just as well as any of us.”

Scott looked like he was desperately hoping the floor would open up and swallow him, if only so he didn't have to face this. “Got it,” he muttered, but his conviction was unconvincing, “I can do this.”

Before he could talk himself out of it, he was on his feet and striding across the room, heading for the main office. We fell silent again, only the human's heartbeats and the sound of Erica tapping away at the keyboard filling the room.

I stopped breathing again. It was easier to concentrate, I found, without Stiles' scent swimming in my head and making everything feel foggy.

“Look at the dates,” Stiles suddenly spoke up, leaning forwards in his chair to peer more closely at the screen.

“The passengers arrived at the hospital DOA. Estimated time of death: 9:26 pm, June fourteenth, 1995,” Erica read aloud, keeping her tone low so as to not be overheard by Harris, who had slipped back into the room.

“Jackson's birthday is June fifteenth,” Stiles frowned. Before any of us could comment further the sharp sound of a zip being tugged filled the room, and we all slid to our feet, gathering our things as we prepared to finally leave detention.

Harris' mocking laughter sounded out, and I turned to look at him with an arched brow.

“No, I'm sorry. Yes _, I'm_ leaving, but none of _you_ are. You may go when you're done with the re-shelving,” he told us with a smug smirk, gesturing to the stacks of books piled atop the carts. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

I wasn't in the mood, I'd done my time and I was ready to get the hell out of there. I took a step forwards, stony glare in place only to have Stiles grasp my arm, gently pulling me back beside him. I glanced at him in annoyance, but he merely looked pointedly at the camera hanging in the corner, angled directly at us. Right, I kept forgetting about that.

I scowled but relented, dropping my bag and raising a single finger at Harris' retreating back before sighing and sliding onto the desktop, legs swinging underneath me.

“What are we meant to do now?” Stiles asked tiredly.

“Put the books away?” suggested Allison, who had been so quiet I'd almost forgotten she was even here. The human groaned loudly, dropping his head to the desk.

“You should have let me compel him,” I sang as I stood smoothly to my feet.

“And expose yourself in the process?” he countered.

I knew he had a point, but all I did was scowl as I began to reluctantly put away the dozens and dozens of books sitting atop the carts. And I couldn't even use my speed, because of the stupid, _fucking_ cameras.

“Where's Harris?” Scott asked a few minutes later, finally bursting back into the room and looking around in confusion. Jackson had returned, too. Saying nothing as he went about his task with an inhuman detachment. “Can we go yet?”

I sent him my flattest stare. “Take a look around and reassess your question, Scott,” I said darkly. The young wolf took no notice, frowning at the us as I handed Stiles a book from the pile, letting him slide it back onto the correct shelf.

“Pst,” Stiles hissed suddenly, catching Scott's attention and then jerking his head to the side, indicating for him to follow him into an alcove. I rolled my eyes at the theatrics but pushed myself to my feet nonetheless, wandering over to the spot hidden from the camera's view and meeting the rest of my new little squad. Was that what I had now? A squad? How _cute._ “So, we found out that Jackson's parents died a day before his birthday,” he told Allison and Scott quietly, glancing over his shoulder to make sure we weren't being eavesdropped on. Erica was on the other end of the room, but I didn't doubt she was listening to our every word. “It was a car accident.”

“What does that mean?” Allison whispered.

“It means he was born after his mom died; by c-section,” he said, grimacing at the very thought. I wondered, suddenly, just how weak this human's stomach was, and whether he could even handle the kind of hellish atrocities that lay hidden in my past. “They had to pull him out of her dead body,” he muttered with a small shudder of disgust.

“I can't imagine…” Allison trailed off empathetically before shaking her head and fixing a frown on her pretty face. “So, was it an accident or not?”

“The word all over the report: inconclusive.”

“So, his parents could have been murdered?” Scott asked with a furrowed brow.

“Well, if they were then it falls in line with the kanima myth. You know? It seeks out and kills murderers,” Stiles explained, glancing through the stacks to make sure the kanima himself wasn't listening.

“But for Jackson, or for the person controlling him?” Allison countered quietly.

“We have to talk to him – we have to _tell_ him,” Scott began, stepping away from the cart we were ignoring. Stiles and Allison whisper-yelled after him, but I was more curious just to see how it played out.

I immediately regretted my selfish decision when there was a crash from above us and a yelp from an isle over. The lights blew, a shower of sparks raining over us. Instinctively I stepped towards Stiles, backing him into a shelf and standing in front of him, preparing for an attack. There was a reptilian hiss that seemed to come from every direction at once and I snarled into the open air, fangs proudly on display, eyes a mix of inky black and bloody red.

The kanima must have leapt over us because suddenly pieces of the ceiling fell to the ground, one just barely missing Stiles' fragile head. A blur shot past me and running once again purely on instinct I jumped out, moving away from Stiles and stepping in front of Scott's collision course with a book cart. I caught him, stopping him from breaking anything. But I barely checked to see if he was okay before yanking him down to where Allison, and now Stiles, was curled up, staring up at Jackson with wide, scared eyes.

_Stay out of my way or I'll kill all of you_.

It was a strange thing for him to do, scribble the words onto an otherwise clean blackboard, while he was half transformed into a giant lizard. Still, it wasn't entirely unexpected. The villain of the story always gave _some_ kind of warning, didn't they?

Before we could do anything he was snarling one last time, murky yellow slits for eyes focused on us before he leapt from the room, smashing an upper window and disappearing out into the slowly darkening evening.

I took a step forwards but before I could get anywhere Scott grabbed hold of my arm, pulling me back. “Let him go,” he muttered, staring at the broken glass with distracted eyes.

The teens stood to their feet, cautiously moving closer to the words scrawled messily on the board. I crossed my arms, peering through narrowed eyes at the single sentence.

“Hey!” Stiles cried loudly from behind me. I spun around to find him knelt down beside a seizing Erica. “I think she's having a seizure,” he told us, holding the blonde in his arms, making sure she didn't hit her head.

In the blink of an eye I was knelt beside him, pressing my hand to her head so I could get a good look at her pupils, keeping an ear on her steadily rising pulse. Scott rushed to our side, holding her shoulders, trying to stop her uncontrollable shaking.

“He's alive,” Allison called, referring to the paralysed kid a shelf over, not that I cared in the slightest. I didn't know him, nor did I want to. Though, I supposed, it was good nobody had died. That had to count for something.

“We need to get her to a hospital,” Stiles said to us seriously, frowning down at a writhing Erica.

“Derek!” she argued weakly, voice trembling along with her body. “Only Derek.”

There was some debate, but she kept muttering Derek's name. “Scott!” Stiles shouted after the world when he darted to his human girlfriend's side, the pair whispering to each other under their breath. Clearly he would get no decision out of him. “What do we do? Derek or the hospital?” he asked me instead, eyes wide and pleading for an answer.

I stared down at the seizing girl through narrowed eyes, grinding my teeth together as I considered the question. “Derek,” I finally decided, ignoring the lovebirds an aisle across. “Containment of the secret is our top priority,” I explained when I caught sight of his doubtful expression.

“Isn't there anything you can do right now?” he asked, clearly stressed. “You have a medical degree, right? Don't you know what to do for someone having a seizure?”

“I only took that class for access to-” I stopped, the rest of the sentence too dark to repeat. I took it for access to blood and the dying, as a way to make my killing less conspicuous. I couldn't very well tell him that. Not now; not like this.

“Jules?” he pressed.

“They don't exactly have a werewolf pre-med class you can take,” I informed him shortly. “Technically speaking, it's impossible for this to even be happening at all. The Bite is meant to cure her epilepsy entirely!”

He looked like he was about to snap back but was interrupted as Scott dashed back to our sides. “What are we doing?” he asked quickly, reaching down to pluck her from my arms, hoisting her up like she weighed nothing.

“Derek,” Stiles said reluctantly, peering at the shaking girl anxiously.

The wolf nodded, clutching her tightly to his body as he fled the room, casting a hard look at the camera propped up in the far corner, little red light blinking at us passively. We only ran into two other people on the way out to the parking lot, but they were easy enough to compel into forgetting we'd ever been seen.

We climbed into Stiles' Jeep, both boys turning down my offer to run her to Derek, mumbling something about this being faster. It wasn't, but I figured I'd let them have their way. I moved to take the seizing werewolf from Scott's arms, even despite their stern expressions.

The blonde bitch let out a piercing scream the second my cold hands touched her skin and I yanked them back at the sound, staring down at her in surprise.

“I-I guess she sees you as a threat, or something,” Scott muttered, holding Erica tighter and frowning down at her screwed up face, watching as she jerked uncontrollably in his arms.

“She sees me as a threat?” I asked, tilting my head in consideration, a small, pleased grin appearing on my lips. “That's so sweet.”

Stiles huffed. “We don't have time for your warped sense of sentimentality,” he snapped, cracking open his door and sliding in, yelling out the window, “Jules, you're up front. Scott, get in the back with Erica!”

We did as we were instructed, each slipping into our respective seats. The drive was quiet and short, the only sounds filling the cab their breathing and Erica's irritating whimpers. It was dark when we pulled up outside the sad little abandoned space Derek had his pack holed up, and we moved quickly. Derek, having heard us arrive, instantly appeared at the top of the stairs, eyes drawn to the unconscious beta in Scott's arms.

In a movement of surprising concern, Derek surged forwards, carefully taking the blonde from Scott and racing down the stairs, back into his dirty dungeon. I considered leaving, but both boys ran after him without a second thought, and with a sigh I knew I couldn't leave them alone with the other pack.

Who knew what Derek might do?

They were all piled inside an old train car, the fluorescent lights above them flickering ominously. “Is she dying?” Stiles asked, Erica's head resting in his lap. I slipped into place beside Scott, peering down at the shaking girl.

I felt a sliver of something in my chest. I couldn't say for sure that it was concern, but it had the makings to be something very similar.

“She might,” Derek said, more stressed than I had ever seen him. He grabbed Erica's arm, clutching it with a wince. “This is gonna hurt,” he warned her, and I realised immediately what he was about to do.

A wonderfully sickening snap echoed throughout the train car, and all the present teenagers flinched at the sound.

“You broke her arm?!” Stiles shouted,unable to see the logic behind the action, struggling to hold onto Erica as the girl began to shriek in agony. The sound was a familiar one, and I focused on the present in an attempt not to lose myself in memories.

“It'll trigger the healing process,” Derek explained in a loud voice so as to be heard over the screams, “I've still got to get the venom out.” He squeezed her skin, nails digging into her flesh as the black, poisoned blood began to drip from her wounds with a gruesome squelch.

Erica screeched in pain, sweat breaking out across her pretty skin, cheeks red in a way mine never could be. It lasted a long minute, everyone wincing in sympathy for the girl. I didn't move an inch, not breathing at all.

The blood dripping from her wound was disgusting and tainted, but I didn't want to risk it. Not with Stiles' neck so close to me. Better to be safe than – ugh, how _boring_ had I become?

“Stiles,” Erica suddenly breathed, looking up into those warm melted chocolate eyes as if they were hers to gaze into. “You make a good Batman.”

An angry snarl flared in my gut and I felt a scowl slip onto my face. I couldn't deny it was jealousy, no matter how much I wished I could. There weren't many emotions that one felt as a soulless vampire, but jealousy was certainly bad enough to fit the bill. I recognised it, a haunting feeling, watching someone enjoy something I wanted badly. It made me as irate now as it did back then.

I watched with satisfaction as she lost consciousness, head lolling backwards, eyes slipping shut.

Finally Derek decided enough of the venom had drained from her system. His claws slipped out of her skin and he wiped his bloody hands on his pants. We were all silent, nobody quite sure what to say. The alpha stood suddenly, turning and striding from the car. Scott shot to his feet, stumbling after the green-eyed wolf, leaving Stiles and I behind in the harsh lights of the carriage.

“She-she's gonna be okay, right?” Stiles asked after a long moment, peering up at me with wide. He looked so innocent in that moment that it almost hurt. He didn't deserve something like me weighing him down. All I did was drag him into a world he had no business existing in. I made myself sick sometimes.

Tuning out the sounds of Derek and Scott conversing outside, I crouched down, folding my legs underneath me and lifting Erica's hand, peering at her snapped bone and bleeding wounds. I threw myself into assessing her rather than face my own reality.

“From what little I know, wolves take longer to heal than vampires do,” I told him quietly, voice sounding as detached as I felt. “It's hard to tell now if it worked. We won't know for sure for a few hours at least.”

I let go of her arm, setting it on the seat a little more roughly than wise, making her groan in her sleep.

“Why do you hate her so much?” Stiles asked me, frowning as he stared up at me, still cradling Erica in his arms. Something about it set my teeth on edge, but I firmly ignored that, considering his question.

“She's a werewolf and I'm a vampire, hating her is practically wired into my DNA,” I told him coldly, eyeing her with distaste. And maybe that wasn't the entire truth, but it certainly wasn't a complete lie.

“But you're friends with Scott,” he argued, shifting the wolf in his arms so he was more comfortable. I had the feeling we'd probably be here awhile.

I scoffed. “Scott isn't a raging bitch.”

Stiles sighed, turning his stare down to Erica, clearly lost in thought. “You're a lot kinder than you force yourself to appear to be,” he told me quietly, like it were a truth he knew on a fundamental level.

I wondered what he might think of me from inside the privacy of his own head. How did I look and sound? How did I come across?

I thought I was perceived one way – the way I intentionally put out – but then he went and said something like that, making me question everything I knew about myself. He made me _want_ to be better, something no one else had ever succeeded in doing. What was so special about him, that he could do that?

I supposed that only time would tell.


	22. Sleepwalking

_Your eyes are swallowing me_

_Mirrors start to whisper_

_Shadows start to sing_

_My skin's smothering me_

_Help me find a way to breathe_

Sleepwalking – Bring Me The Horizon

* * *

“They were all in the same class!” Stiles all but shouted as he shoved open my front door and burst into my front room like he owned the place. I paused where I sat on the stairs, tying the laces to my boots, glancing up at him with a raised brow.

He frowned when I didn't immediately reply, holding out his hands as if waiting for me to comment. “Context?” I prompted him, finishing off my left boot and moving to my right.

“All the kanima – and its master's – victims,” he explained after a moment, eyes bright with his discovery. “They were all the same age and all in the same class at Beacon Hills High.”

I paused. “Why is that important?”

“Because three is a pattern!”

“You lost me again.”

He sighed like he was tediously trying to explain thermonuclear astrophysics to a toddler. “What I'm saying is that we found what connects all the victims,” he said. “They were all in Harris' chemistry class.”

I frowned again, crossing my arms and leaning back against the mahogany railings of my stairs. “So this has something to do with Harris?” I asked doubtfully.

He hesitated. “Well, we don't know for sure yet.”

“Who's we?”

“My dad and I.”

“Your father knows?”

“Not about the supernatural. He's been looking for a way to connect the murders, and though I can't tell him everything, I was still able to find a way to help him figure out the pattern.”

I paused, pressing my lips together in thought as I slid to my feet, pulling my old trench coat off the railing and slipping my arms through the sleeves, even though I knew I wouldn't feel the cold. I led him to the door, shutting in behind us and locking it as an afterthought. “Want me to compel Harris, see if I can get anything out of him?” I asked as we made our way down my driveway to where his Jeep was parked on the curb, Scott perched in the front seat, staring down at his phone.

“Yeah, actually,” Stiles said, and it was clear the idea hadn't occurred to him yet, although he wouldn't be caught dead admitting it. I nodded, pulling open the door and jumping up into the worn, comfortable seat.

“Hey, Juliet,” Scott mumbled, and I glanced over his shoulder at his phone, noting that he was on some kind of online store, searching for tickets of some sort.

“What're the tickets for?” I asked in lieu of a greeting, and the teen wolf didn't have it in him to be annoyed, sighing in something like defeat.

“I followed Jackson last night, he bought tickets to this underground party thing that's happening tonight. Nobody's selling any more, and we can't find any anywhere.”

“And we need to be there because...?” I asked as Stiles started the engine, steering the car towards the main road.

“We're sure it's where he'll attack the next victim.”

“Right,” I nodded, crossing one leather clad leg over the other and peering out the window thoughtfully. “And why can't I just compel us inside?”

“We thought of that,” Stiles spoke up as he indicated, driving through the gap in the traffic. “They only sold a certain number of tickets, and they're giving wristbands at the door. If we can't get the wristbands and we get caught inside without them, we'll get thrown out.”

“But-” I began to argue, seeing the flaws in their plan.

“We also thought that they might have vervain,” Scott added. “With the hunter reinforcements in town, it's probably only a matter of time before they start sneaking vervain into the water supply or something.”

“The point is, we don't know if we can rely on compulsion. We need to have a plan B,” Stiles said over his shoulder, and I had to begrudgingly admit he had a point.

“At least we have Derek and the others on our side now,” his friend spoke up, seeming relieved at the thought. I cringed, remembering the deal Scott made with the alpha: to work together to get the kanima. It was hard enough dealing with one werewolf, let alone a whole pack. “There's gotta be some way to get tickets, right?” he asked after a moment as Stiles pulled into the school parking lot, miraculously scoring a park close to the entrance.

“It's a secret show, there's only one way,” Stiles replied, shouldering his bag and letting the driver's door slam shut. “And it's a _secret_.”

“Hey!” a voice asked from beside us. I adjusted the bag on my shoulder, glancing over at the kid with a bored expression. “Do any of you three know why no one's getting suspended after what happened the other day at school?”

“Just forget about it; nobody got hurt,” Stiles shrugged, clearing not bothering with the conversation.

“I had a concussion.”

“Nobody got _seriously_ hurt.”

“I was in the ER for _six hours_.”

“Do you wanna know the truth Matt? Your little bump on the head is about _this_ high on our list of problems right now!” my friend exclaimed, gesturing to several inches off the ground. I smirked proudly at the bite in his voice and crossed my arms, regarding the dark haired, petulant teen with vague disinterest.

“Are you okay?” Scott asked him, far more compassion in his voice than the guy deserved, while Stiles just rolled his eyes in impatient exasperation.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Matt responded with a sigh. What a fucking baby. “So you didn't get any tickets last night either?” he asked conversationally, as if we were all fucking friends. Why did humans do that? Make mindless conversation when it was obvious everybody would rather just be left alone?

“Are they still selling?”

“No, but I managed to find two online. You should keep trying, sounds like everyone's going to be there.”

He turned and with a small, polite smile, made his way back towards the side of the school. “I don't like him,” Stiles growled, not even waiting until he was out of hearing distance before speaking. I had to agree. He seemed harmless enough; but then again, at first glance, so did Klaus. “Are you sure about this?” he asked suddenly, turning to Scott with desperate eyes.

“Last time, whoever's controlling Jackson had to kill somebody. He didn't finish the job, so what do you think he's going to do this time?” Scott asked seriously.

“Be there to make sure it happens.”

“Well, that'll be particularly difficult for him,” I said casually, crossing my arms over my chest and arching a single eyebrow pointedly. “Since we'll be there to make sure it doesn't.”

* * *

“Is it true that Isaac beat up a couple of kids in the locker room because one of them said his mother was a whore and the other threatened to tell everyone he has mouth herpes?” I asked eagerly, slipping into place beside Stiles at the lunch table we occupied most days, picking up his lemonade bottle and taking a sip, enjoying the way it fizzled on my tongue. I nodded at Scott in greeting and he smiled back sweetly.

“What the-” Stiles began, half choking on the chip in his mouth. After a moment of coughing and an apathetic clap on the back from me, he continued. “No! Well, the part about the mother insult and herpes thing. He _did_ kick the crap out of some guys in the locker room, though.”

“Why?” I asked confusedly, swallowing another mouthful of drink.

“To score us _these_ ,” he replied, reaching into the bag at his feet and searching around in its depths for something. He frowned when he didn't immediately find what he was looking for, ducking under the table to peer into the bag more closely. Finally, after a long, anticlimactic minute, he reappeared, three slips of paper in his hand.

I narrowed my eyes at the objects, head tilting as I observed them. “Tickets to the rave?”

“ _Rave_? What is this, 2005?” he asked sarcastically. “It's a _party_.”

“Whatever,” I rolled my eyes, watching as he pocketed the tickets carefully, like they were made of gold.

“Listen,” Scott said suddenly, leaning over the table so I could hear him whisper, apparently forgetting I had supernatural hearing. “Stiles and I are going to the clinic after school, we're going to talk to Deaton about a good offence, something to help us tonight.”

“Four betas, an alpha and a two-centuries old vampire won't be enough?”

“It wasn't the last two times.”

“...Fair enough.”

It was quiet, the boys shovelling food into their mouths, Stiles turning his attention to his half finished homework laying on the table before him, scribbling down the remains of an essay he should have had completed days ago. I leaned back in the chair, turning my gaze to the room, peering uninterestedly at the gathered crowd.

Taking a deep breath in, I registered the aching burn in my throat telling me I needed to feed on the blood I could smell. As always, I pushed the instinct away, clinging to my humanity with everything I had, not willing to let go for even a second. Too afraid that if I did, for even a moment, I would lose myself – and, worse still, Stiles.

* * *

“Do you think I can do it?”

I looked over at the human, raising an eyebrow as I listened to his racing heart. Sensing that I was making him uncomfortable, I looked away, focusing on pulling at the skin-tight material of my leather pants. We'd stopped by my house so I could get changed. Stiles was making me wear heels, insisting that I had to 'look the part'. I'd caught him staring at my legs more than once, however, leading me to believe he had more selfish reasons at heart.

Finally we were on our way to Stiles' place, where the kid would get changed and pick up what he needed for the night.

I knew what Stiles was talking about, of course. We'd just come from the clinic, and after an intense conversation with Deaton, I wasn't surprised that Stiles was doubting his ability to carry through with the plan, doubting his ability to be exactly what we needed.

“There's absolutely nobody I would trust more to do this,” I finally answered, with complete honesty. “If anyone can be the spark we need,” I said, recalling the veterinarian's previous words, “it's _you_ , Stiles.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, but I politely ignored it, staring out into the darkening sky and finding myself hoping it would rain. Although I had complete faith in Stiles, I _was_ somewhat worried about him. The plan called for us to be apart, for Stiles to be alone. He would be unprotected; vulnerable. I just hoped I had the strength to keep from rushing to his side at the first hint of danger.

And maybe that should have scared me, but instead all I felt was warm acceptance.

“Thank you,” Stiles whispered.

I looked over to see him staring at the road, long fingers curled tight around the steering wheel of his Jeep. “For what?” I asked, blinking at him through the dark.

“Just...” he trailed off, clearly having trouble putting what he felt into words. “Just being _you_ , I guess.” I was quiet, unsure how I was supposed to respond. “That sounded less weird in my head. I didn't mean it – I mean, of course I _meant_ it, I just didn't mean for it to sound like something out of a cheesy-”

I pressed my lips together to conceal the smile threatening to appear on my red painted lips. Instead I reached across the seats, grabbing hold of the hand clutching the gear-stick and pulling it back across the cab into my lap. Both my hands wrapped around his warm palm, unthinkingly threading his fingers through mine.

Stiles made an odd wheezing sound from the back of his throat, and his hand was slightly clammy. I didn't find any of it off-putting, instead enjoying the way his heart raced in his chest and his breath sped up. It was endearing – and fascinating, in a way – watching how flustered he got from simply having his hand held.

I was just contemplating what he might do if I pressed my lips tenderly to the skin of his palm when he pulled into his driveway, turning the car off but not moving an inch. I stared at him through the darkness, a smile pulling at the edges of my lips as I absentmindedly counted the freckles splattered across his pale cheek.

“I should go,” he eventually mumbled, although not moving an inch.

“We _are_ on a clock here,” I agreed distantly.

He remained frozen.

Deciding I had to be the one to make the first move to pull away, I squeezed his hand once before slowly picking it up and dragging it gently back into his lap, finally letting go and crossing my arms over my chest. Stiles took a long, deep breath before nodding to himself and all but flying from the car and into his house, dropping the keys twice in his haste to open the front door.

I had no idea what I was doing. I _knew_ without a doubt that having these… Did I want to call them _feelings_? It suddenly seemed too juvenile a word. Whatever I wanted to name it, what I felt was wrong, not to mention impossible.

I was old and evil, he was young and good, and that was just the _beginning_ of the incompatibility.

What if something did happen, the _worst_ possible thing, and I _fell_ for him? What would my options be? Either turn him or watch him grow old and die? I couldn't do either of those things. I _wouldn't._

I was lost in my thoughts, distracted, but eventually Stiles stumbled out the front door just as an unfamiliar, unmarked car was pulling into the spot beside the Jeep. I instinctively pressed myself against the seat, all but melting into the shadows to remain unseen.

“Hey! Can't talk, gotta run!” Stiles said hurriedly, jogging past his father with his keys in hand, only to suddenly freeze. “Wait, what's wrong?”

I frowned, looking over the sheriff with a critical eye. His shoulders were slumped, his face drawn with defeat and exhaustion. He looked like a broken man, and my new-found emotions almost ached for him without even knowing what was wrong.

I felt guilty for eavesdropping, even though there was nothing I could do to stop myself from hearing; I was too close to avoid it.

I compensated by staring in the opposite direction, that way if the man glanced my way it would appear I wasn't paying attention. I listened with a heavy chest as the (now former) sheriff explained that he was no longer part of the force, taking a 'leave of absence' that was 'temporary'. I didn't have to hear his heartbeat to know that part was a lie. I winced, jaw clenching in anger and pain as I listened to Stiles choke up in response, then sniffle rather sadly while the garage door slowly slid shut.

It was a good two minutes before he got back in the car, frown on his lips as he started the engine and steered us out onto the road. We both knew that I'd heard everything, but the last thing I wanted to do was bring it up. It would only make him uncomfortable, and he might even shed another tear. What the fuck would I do then?

I decided, in the end, that I had no choice. Ignoring the matter was crueler than the alternative, and the last thing I wanted to be was cruel.

Usually.

“Are you okay?” I asked tentatively, wincing at how meek I sounded.

He took a deep, steadying breath before replying. “No.”

I nodded, having expected that answer. “In the morning I'll go down to the station, find the person in charge and fix this,” I told him surely, spinning in the seat to face him, watching the side of his face on the off chance he might turn to look at me.

“No.”

I frowned in confusion. “What do you mean 'no'?”

“The supernatural got him into this mess,” he muttered brokenly. “It doesn't seem right to use the supernatural to get him out of it.”

I wanted to argue, but I knew how stubborn he could be. Instead I sighed, accepting his answer and turning back to the front, staring blankly out at the darkness. We were silent for the rest of the drive to Scott's house, then silent again after picking the wolf up, much to his confusion.

“Are you okay?” he finally asked once we'd arrived at the warehouse, unable to stand the silence any longer.

“Yeah, why?” Stiles asked, cracking open the trunk and reaching forwards to grab one of the bags of mountain ash. I cringed at the sight of it, the cells in my body reacting to its mere presence.

“You didn't say anything on the way here,” Scott explained with a shrug.

“I'm fine,” Stiles lied. “Can one of you just grab the other bag?”

“I can't, remember? Deaton said you have to do it alone.”

Stiles very nearly growled. “Okay, this plan is really starting to suck.”

“No,” Scott suddenly mumbled, staring off into the distance. I tilted my head, sniffing lightly out of instinct. I was downwind from Allison, so I caught a hint of her unique scent on the breeze. “Not here, not now!” And then without further ado, Scott rushed off in his love's direction, leaving Stiles and I behind to roll our eyes in exasperation.

“ _Scott_! What am I suppose to-?” Stiles yelled after him, before sighing in defeat. “Screw you too.”

“I'd offer my help, but...” I trailed off uncomfortably, gesturing to the bags of mountain ash sitting in the trunk. I couldn't stand to anywhere near it – just the scent alone was making my nostrils ache.

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded, rubbing tiredly at the crease between his brows. “I'll be fine, you go inside and try to meet up with the wonder twins, see where they're at and maybe scan the perimeter for any sign of Jackson; human _or_ lizard.”

I turned to go, but paused, spinning back around to look at him. “For the record,” I said, making him glance up at me in surprise. “You make better plans than anybody else.”

He grinned, mood lifting for a moment before I turned around, moving towards the door that the music was thundering out from. I approached it, mentally rolling up my sleeves and steadying myself. A room full of writhing, sweating humans – just what I needed. The place reeked of pheromones, I could smell it even from outside.

With a heavy sigh I stalked forwards, heels clicking on the cement as I approached the bouncer. He appraised me with a suspicious eye, and I was grateful that I didn't have to concentrate enough to use compulsion, merely showing him my ticket, gaining my wristband and entering the loud, colourfully lit room.

It wasn't easy moving five feet into the space, let alone scour it for Jackson or the two betas I was searching for. I shoved my way through the crowd, sometimes having to go so far as to lift a stubborn teen into the air and forcefully move them out of the way. I grumbled to myself, using mostly curse words as my heightened sight cut through the shadows, looking for the any sign of my target.

“ _Be careful_.”

“ _I doubt it'll even slightly hurt him._ ”

“ _I mean you. I don't want you to get hurt_.”

It wasn't Jackson, but it was the next best thing. I headed straight for the pair of werewolves murmuring to each other by a stone pillar. “What's the plan?” I asked, seeming to appear from thin air. Isaac jumped and Scott flinched, both spinning around to stare at me.

“Actually, we could probably use you,” Scott said suddenly, an idea lighting up his eyes.

“Ah, the words every girl dreams of hearing,” I drawled in reply, and he was too focused on his task to so much as roll his eyes.

“You have a sort of _natural allure_ as a vampire, right?” Scott asked me eagerly, scanning the crowd in case anyone was listening. Unless they had supernatural hearing, there was no chance they'd be able to hear over the mind-numbing thudding of the music, but I appreciated his commitment to the cause.

“Are you calling me pretty?” I asked with a teasing grin, fluttering my eyelashes dramatically. Scott only frowned at me, unimpressed, and I crinkled my nose in distaste. “Right,” I huffed, a tiny bit petulant. “I can see it's not the time. Carry on.”

Scott barrelled ahead without pause. “Isaac needs to get close enough to Jackson to inject him with the serum,” he explained in a hurry.

I frowned, jerking my chin in Isaac's direction. “Why's _he_ doing it?”

Isaac looked vaguely offended, but I didn't bother to soften the blow of my words. He knew what I meant. Scott sighed so quietly I almost missed it over the thrashing techno pouring from the stoned DJ's shitty speakers. “Because the Argents are here,” he told me reluctantly.

I blanched. “The _Argents_ are here?!”

“It's a long story-”

“Then make it shorter.”

Scott hesitated, surprised by the force in my voice, but he complied to my demand. “Allison told her dad and Gerard about Jackson. They have a plan of their own, and as far as I can tell, they're here to carry it out.”

I swore crassly, gritting my teeth and glaring at a random girl in the crowd, taking pleasure in the way she went pale and shifted away anxiously. “There are only so many of us,” I hissed, knowing both wolves could hear perfectly. “We can't take down Jackson _and_ keep the Argents busy.”

“We have to try,” Scott replied, voice thick with conviction. It was always with the righteousness, with him. Some days it could be exhausting.

“I'll text Derek,” Isaac interjected, pulling out his phone and beginning to type. “He and Boyd can stall the hunters, at least for awhile.”

“Good,” Scott nodded, glancing over his shoulder at something I couldn't see from this angle. “I have to go,” he said, before pausing and turning to me. “Be careful,” he told me seriously. “It would kill Stiles to lose you.”

Before I could question his words he was gone, lost in the sea of panting, sweating, gyrating youths. I grimaced, filing that away for later and spinning around to face Isaac. “What's the plan?” he asked before I could even get a word out.

Why the hell did all these kids always think I knew what I was doing? Wasn't it painfully obvious that I just made shit up as I went along?

“We find Jackson,” I said with more confidence than I actually had. “I'll distract him and you wait for an opportunity to jam that needle into his slimy neck.”

Isaac nodded once. “Got it.”

Erica appeared by our side a moment later, and though she curled her lip in disgust when she spotted me, a few muttered words from Isaac had her centred and focused on the task at hand. She told us she'd seen him only a minute before, heading towards the DJ.

He wasn't hard to find after that, it was easy to spot him. Seeing as he was the only person not dancing, he stood out from the crowd, a frozen figure in a sea of vibrating children.

I felt my posture change, pure instinct driving me as I held my head high and pushed out my chest, making my cleavage stand out in the flashing lights. A sultry smile spread across my cherry lips and my eyes turned into pools of swirling, emerald green. I appeared in front of Jackson, my arms wrapping around his neck and my leg hooking around his hip. I exhaled gently onto his ear, and he froze, heart hammering in his chest. Kanima or not, he was still just a male.

I rolled my hips against him in time to the beat of the music, and his hands shot up to grasp at my waist. I wondered whether he was more human or snake in that moment, but in the end it didn't really matter. I'd danced with worse things than him.

He pulled away suddenly, turning back to the speakers lining the back of the warehouse, but my fingers curled around his shoulder, using enhanced strength to yank him back to me. His blank expression dropped into a dark glare, and he tugged away from me once more.

With a frustrated huff I forced him back to me, this time capturing his lips with my own. He sagged, all the fight to get away gone from him. His lips were firm and moist as they moved against mine in a forceful way. I sighed into his mouth, and he took it as one of pleasure, when in reality it was annoyance. He was an aggressive kisser, and while, ordinarily, I would enjoy that sort of thing, I found myself longing for something softer, something human, someone shy and inexperienced with brown eyes and freckles...

Suddenly Jackson dropped to the floor. In a panic I grabbed him, hands hooking under his arms as I effortlessly held him up. I glanced at Isaac who stood beside us, needle in hand, surprise that it had worked spread clear as day across his face. I glanced at Erica, who looked just as shocked.

I rolled my eyes at how pathetically useless the two wolves were, not caring how suspicious it looked for a 5” girl to be carrying a 6” guy and throwing an unconscious Jackson over my shoulder.

“Where?” I grunted.

“Storage unit,” Erica said. “This way.”

She and Isaac led the way, shoving dancing teenagers out of my path, allowing me to walk through to the edge of the crowd. People standing along the walls started to stare at me oddly, so I shoved Jackson into a surprised Isaac's arms, gesturing for him to hold the kanima steady and keep walking.

My phone began to vibrate in my back pocket, and with an impatient huff I answered it. “Yeah?” I asked, hoping whatever it was wasn't urgent so I could get away quickly.

“ _We have a serious problem_ ,” Stiles' voice said over the line, tinny and full of desperation, and I sighed. Nothing was ever easy.

“Are you okay?” was my first question – and the most important one, as far as I was concerned.

“ _I don't have enough of this stupid fairy dust crap to complete the circle, and Scott isn't answering his phone_!”

I paused, mulling over his words.

“ _Well_?!” he prompted me desperately. “ _What the_ hell _am I supposed to do_?!”

“Juliet!” Erica hissed from beside me, gesturing to where Isaac had just disappeared down a hallway with Jackson.

“Look,” I began seriously, striding across the stained dance floor and escaping into a small, enclosed alcove. “This is going to sound stupid but it's the only advice I can think of to say,” I told him, shutting my eyes and grimacing at the words I knew were about to come from my mouth. “You need to believe, Stiles.”

There was silence on the other end. “... _Believe_?” he finally asked, incredulous.

I grit my teeth, glancing over my shoulder at where Isaac had disappeared with Jackson. “In my two hundred years I've seen a fair few things, and I've learnt a hell of a lot more. Out of all the smartest things all the smartest people have ever said, there's one I know without a doubt to be true, and that is that imagination-”

“- _is more important than knowledge_ ,” he finished, suddenly sounding more confident than I expected him to.

“Juliet!” Erica hissed again, glaring daggers at me from the entrance to the hallway.

“I believe in you, Stiles,” I blurted. “I'll always believe in you.”

There wasn't anything else I could say, so I hung up, shoving my phone into my pocket and darting across the room and into the hall, following the wolves' scents until I found myself in a cramped storage unit.

“I tried to find some zip-ties or something but they seem to be fresh out,” Isaac said once I'd slipped into the room, peering at Jackson, who sat blissfully unconscious in an uncomfortable looking chair.

“He doesn't look like he'll be waking up any time soon,” I shrugged indifferently.

“It would be so much simpler to just kill him now, while he's defenceless,” Erica grumbled. She had a point, and I had to admire her innate ruthlessness, however I couldn't allow myself to consider it an option. It was a dangerous line to walk, especially for a reformed blood addict like myself.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I slid it free again, reading the text I'd received from Stiles asking where we were. I replied in a clipped sentence, and only moments later he was bursting through the door to the right, making Erica jump up to attack.

“Whoa, it's just me! It's just me!” Stiles shouted, arms held out to defend himself if necessary. He sighed as the bitch stepped back, straightening his flannel and moving to stand beside me, almost as an afterthought. He assessed Jackson carefully, watching for any hint of consciousness. Suddenly his heart rate spiked, and he spun around to glare at me accusingly. I wondered what I'd done wrong now. “Did you _kiss him_?” he demanded.

I shouldn't have felt as embarrassed as I did, and so I scowled to cover it up, crossing my arms over my chest and turning to face him. “What?” I asked, playing dumb.

“Your lipstick,” he grunted like it pained him, lip curling back in disgust. “It's smudged on his lips.”

Ever the detective, Stiles was. Couldn't he have taken one day off? “I needed to distract him,” I said, refusing to feel guilty for it. I'd done what I had to to get this plan to work. And it wasn't as if I had a moral code I stood by. What was a single kiss to an immortal demon? I'd done far worse things for far less righteous reasons.

But Stiles didn't seem to see it the same way. “So you _kissed_ him?!” he squeaked in dismay, looking vaguely ill.

I opened my mouth, but Erica interrupted before I could form what was sure to be a scathing retort. “Now isn't the time for your lover's spat,” Erica growled impatiently. Stiles scrubbed a hand over his reddening face, but ultimately he agreed.

“Is he okay?” he asked reluctantly, eyes narrowed at a comatose Jackson.

“Well, let's find out,” Isaac said, stepping closer to the kanima. He flicked his wrist and his razor sharp claws appeared as he swiped down, aiming for the face, probably just to wake him up and see if he was really out of it. Before any of us knew what had happened Jackson's hand shot out, grasping Isaac's with disturbing accuracy, considering his eyes were still tightly shut. The beta groaned in pain, bending at the knees as Jackson twisted his wrist mercilessly.

“Okay, no one does _anything_ like that again,” Stiles instructed sternly once the kanima had finally let go of Isaac's arm, the boy scrambling out of reach the second he was free.

“I thought it was supposed to put him out!” Isaac hissed, grabbing his bruised wrist in pain.

“Yeah, well, apparently this is all we're going to get. So let's just hope that whoever's controlling him decided to show up tonight.”

“I'm here,” Jackson said, but it didn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out it wasn't the star lacrosse player talking. “I'm right here with you,” said the person behind the mask.

Stiles froze, staring at the kanima with horror. “Jackson, is that you?” he asked tentatively, stepping closer to the unconscious boy. I reached out, fingers curling around a handful of his hoodie, uncomfortable with the thought of him getting too close to the kanima's deadly claws.

“Us,” Jackson's stolen voice droned. “We're all here.”

Stiles glanced over his shoulder, meeting my eyes. I nodded reassuringly, seeing the indecision in his gaze. “Are you the one killing people?” he asked, turning back to the snake.

“We're the ones killing _murderers_.”

“So then, all the people you've killed so far...”

“Deserved it.”

“See, we've got a little rule book that says you only go after murderers,” Stiles said, outwardly appearing calm, but inside his heart was racing and his palms were sticky with sweat.

“Anything can break if enough pressure's applied.”

Stiles paused. “Alright, so the people you're killing are all murderers then?”

“All. Each and every one.”

“Who did they murder?”

“ _Me._ ”

We all fell silent, gaining only more questions than answers. Stiles cocked his head. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“They murdered _me_.” Jackson's eyes morphed into reptilian slits, changing to a shining orange. I tugged Stiles behind me the instant I noticed the change, unwilling to let him be in danger for even a moment. He didn't protest, letting me shift in front of him protectively. A glance down to Jackson's hands confirmed my worries; his fingers had turned scaly, dagger like claws protruding in place of fingernails.

“We need more!” Stiles insisted, referring to the drug we'd used to subdue Jackson.

“We don't have any more,” Isaac mumbled.

“You used the whole bottle?”

Before either of them could say anything else, the kanima was on two feet, face half covered in green scales. It opened its mouth and let out a feral snarl, revealing menacing rows of pointy, grey teeth. “Out. Now,” Stiles shouted, all but shoving us out the door. “In front of the door!” he commanded, and immediately I pressed my hands against the wood. Nothing would get through.

And then the kanima burst through the metal wall beside us like it was made of nothing but paper, charging full speed into the depths of the warehouse.

“We need to find it,” I growled, pushing away from the door and facing my three companions. “Do a sweep of the area, don't attack if you find him, just keep tabs until we can all come together. No one will be able to take him down alone, so don't be stupid enough to try.”

Although they didn't look happy to be taking orders from me, the two betas nodded and scurried off down the hallway, back into the thick of the party. “What should I do?” Stiles asked me nervously, hands twisting together in front of him.

“Go outside, get across the mountain ash line.”

“We don't even know if it worked-”

“It's the best chance we have at keeping you safe,” I growled.

“I can help you-”

“By staying _safe_ ,” I cut him off with a serious expression. I glanced to the right where I heard footsteps moving towards our location. “I'll meet you outside in one minute.” Then I disappeared from his sight, scanning the club at top speeds, going so fast the kanima couldn't even catch me. My senses were somewhat dulled by the loud music, flashing lights and overpowering stench of sweat and arousal, so it was difficult to find anything at all, let alone a camouflaging lizard.

With a frustrated sigh I left the party, materialising at the main entrance, breathing in the blissfully clean night air. I spotted Stiles standing a few paces away beside Derek, and as usual my first instinct was to move to his side. I barely got three steps before I was stopped by an invisible barrier. It wasn't so much like a wall as it was like the identical sides of two magnets trying to touch. No matter how I tried to force my hand over the line, I just couldn't get through.

“Oh my _God_ , it's working!” Stiles exclaimed, and though I loathed being trapped, I was immensely proud of the brown-eyed boy for being able to complete task so well. I hadn't been exaggerating before; Stiles was the spark in our lives. He was the only one of us who would have even had a chance at getting this to work. And he'd proved me right. “ _Yes_ , I did something!”

My lips twitched up into a smile, but before I could say anything a pained, heart-wrenching howl echoed through the surrounding area, easily heard over the thrashing music.

“Scott,” Derek muttered, meeting my eyes for a beat. If I had human blood-flow, it would have drained from my face. I nodded once, expression grim. “Break it,” Derek instructed Stiles gruffly.

“What?” Stiles asked incredulously. “ _No way_!”

Derek growled. “Scott's _dying_!”

Stiles wasn't convinced. “Okay, what? How do you know that?”

“Stiles, I just _know_! Break it!”

Stiles still hesitated, glancing at me unsurely. “He's telling the truth!” I insisted, and though he looked upset at doing so, he leant forwards and fanned his hands over the line of mountain ash, breaking it easily.

“Come on!” the alpha urged me, dashing past, desperate to reach Scott.

“Wait!” I shouted, my whole body freezing.

“We don't have time-”

“Blood,” I said, eyes wide with warring concern and hunger. The whole place may have stunk of pheromones, but vampires were like sharks; we could smell blood from miles away, no matter the circumstances. “It's human,” I added at Stiles' alarmed expression.

“Go!” he shouted at us both, and with a nod each of us disappeared, heading for opposite ends of the warehouse, each on a deathly important mission.

It was easy enough to find the body. The second it was in sight I knew that the girl was gone from this world. Her eyes stared unseeingly at the ceiling, blood pooled around her head from the slices in her neck. I hated myself for how hungry the sight left me.

Kneeling beside her, I softly closed her lids so she looked like she was just sleeping. It wasn't a tradition I understood, but it seemed the human thing to do.

With a sigh I pulled my phone from my pocket, dialling 911 and leaving an anonymous tip that there was a dead body at this stupid, horrible, godforsaken party.

I felt useless; I'd come here to protect the humans, and I couldn't even do that.

I huffed, pushing myself back to my feet. With a final glance at the corpse, and turned and headed home, desperate both for a bath and a refreshing glass of A-positive, if only to get the memory of the dead girl's fresh blood scrubbed from my brain.


	23. Absolution

_Run boy be a man_

_With legs too weak to make a stand_

_We're all crucified in the end_

_Can you hear a voice_

_Decipher it through all this noise_

_You'll be left with nothing again_

Absolution – The Pretty Reckless

* * *

It was ironic that both my most and least favourite colour was blood red.

Despite my mixed feelings on the shade, I painted it onto my lips, rubbing them together to make an even texture. I heard tyres on the asphalt and the familiar creak of the brakes of Stiles' Jeep, and made a mental note to remind him to check the brake pads. I threw my leather jacket over a short, strapless mint dress that I'd dug out from the depths of my closet and shoved some dangly gold earrings in my pierced ears in an attempt at classing up my outfit. I slipped my feet into the black heeled boots I loved so much, eternally grateful for my enhanced sense of balance.

I figured that I wouldn't need anything, so I merely shoved my phone in the breast pocket of my jacket and made my way downstairs, slipping out the front door, locking it behind me, appearing in the passenger seat of the Jeep just as Stiles was preparing to get out to come fetch me.

“ _Jesus_ ,” he shrieked when the sound of the door clicking shut met his ears and he noticed me sitting beside him.

“I prefer to go by Juliet,” I responded cheekily, tilting my head and smirking widely.

His heart was racing from the shock, but I was surprised when it didn't immediately slow to a regular speed, instead only speeding up more as he stared at me.

“What?” I asked self-consciously, my smirk melting into a frown.

He cleared his throat, blinking quickly before his gaze darted to my still lawn. “Nothing,” he lied, but I was willing to let it go, doubting it was anything serious. He took my silence as disapproval, and sighed, wincing as he elaborated. “You've just never worn your hair like that,” he said, toying with a loose thread hanging from the sleeve of his flannel as he referred to the way all my hair except my bangs was pinned in an artfully messy bun at the back of my head.

“Allison said the attire was smart-casual,” I said in explanation, eyeing his wardrobe choice. Had I done something wrong? I wasn't very down with the trends of today; it made sense that I'd fuck up something even as simple as this.

“No, no. It looks good,” his voice broke slightly on the last word, but I charitably ignored it. His words were clearly meant to reassure me and so I let it, shrugging as he pulled out of the drive, heading onto the main road, out of the slumps and towards the fancy side of town. “So they brought Harris in for questioning,” he told me after a beat, heart rate slowly returning to normal.

“Why?”

“Because they found evidence that put him at the scene of three of the murders,” he replied.

I paused. “I don't think it's him.”

“Me neither.”

“I'm not going to help him escape, though.”

Stiles' lips twitched. “Me neither.” He was silent for a moment, turning up the heat and holding his hand in front of the vent for a moment, warming his icy fingers. “There's more.”

“Oh boy,” I muttered, turning more in the seat to look at him, giving him my full attention.

“We figured out how all the victims are connected.”

I grimaced when he didn't elaborate. “And?” I prompted eagerly.

“They were all on the swim team.”

I didn't say anything for a moment, processing his words. “What about Lahey?”

“He was the coach,” he told me.

I considered his words, something occurring to me. “It's awfully ironic that whoever is controlling the kanima has a fear of water _and_ everyone they're killing was on the _swim_ team,” I pointed out.

Stiles nodded in agreement. “It can't be a coincidence.”

We were quiet, the only sounds filling the cab of the Jeep were Stiles' heartbeat and the soft tinkling of the jazz coming from the speakers. I did a double-take, eyes narrowing at the sound system thoughtfully. “Is this Sonny Rollins?” I asked a moment later, head tilting as I listened closely. “Since when do you listen to smooth jazz?”

I glanced at Stiles curiously only to find familiar red blotches appearing on his pale, freckle-splattered skin. “I know it's your one of your favourites, so I've been researching a bit. I found this great local station that plays jazz 24/7… I figured you'd enjoy it,” he said sheepishly, then shrugged like it was no big deal.

But it was.

He'd noticed something about me, then he'd found out everything he could about my interest and went to the trouble of changing his daily routine just to do something nice for me. His blotchy patches of embarrassment hadn't faded yet, so I decided a change of subject would be the best course of action, lest things get uncomfortable.

“Are we going to mention the elephant in the room?”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Stiles jerked the wheel to the left, sending us into the opposite lane for a moment before he regained control and veered back into the correct side, the car behind him honking loudly. “What?” he squeaked, glancing over at me with wide eyes.

To my credit, I didn't show how alarmed the reaction had made me, merely raising an eyebrow in question. I hesitated before speaking up, wondering what the hell was going on. “The massive box in the backseat?” I prompted cautiously, wondering if he was going to have yet another overdramatic reaction.

“Oh!” he breathed, seeming relieved by my words. I frowned, filing that away for later. “It's Lydia's birthday present. What'd you get her?”

“Nothing,” I replied simply, giving a careless shrug.

He shot me an appalled look. “You're going to her birthday party, and you're not even taking her a gift?”

“So sue me,” I muttered offendedly, crossing my arms and staring out the window into the dark night.

“I don't get it,” he said suddenly, checking over his shoulder before switching lanes. “Why do you hate her so much?”

I was reminded of our conversation about Erica only days before, and I found myself annoyed that I had to keep defending my opinions about the people around me. “She's shallow and vapid,” I said easily, lip curling at the mere thought of the girl.

“Yeah, at first glance,” he said defensively, hands tightening on the wheel. “But on first impression, you're not very likeable either.” I glared irritably, but he barrelled on, oblivious as ever. “I mean, _completely_ unlikeable. You don't seem to have _any_ redeemable qualities other than your looks. Seriously, you just come across as plain _awful_ -”

“I get it,” I snapped, hands balling into angry fists, crossing one bare leg over the other, sending him a death glare through the dark cab.

“My _point_ is,” he continued seriously, glancing at me for no more than a second before returning his gaze to the road. “You seem like that at first, but then you get to know you and you're full of compassion. I mean, sure, you have a weird kink for torture and you get this weird smile every time someone mentions being in pain, but you're only like that with people who – kind of – deserve it. When it comes to friends, and innocents, you have this incredible compassion that's like nothing I've ever seen. And you're loyal, I've never met anyone so loyal. You're a vampire who's part of a werewolf pack, because you formed a friendship with a beta, and you're protecting your friends and all the things they hold dear.

“It's crazy brave, everything you do. I mean, one bite from one of them and you're gone, but you still stay. And you're strong. I mean, a vampire on a diet? I can't imagine how hard it is to resist blood, to resist killing people when every instinct in you is screaming to do the opposite. I've never known somebody so passionate about changing for the better…”

He trailed off, staring at the road in front of us with a far-off look in his eyes. I wondered whether it was safe for him to be so distracted, but he seemed to be driving in a straight line well enough, so I let it go.

But now that I had a second to process, I had to stop myself from panicking.

What the fuck just happened?

One minute we were talking about Lydia and how much I disliked her, the next he was listing all the things he...admired about me? It was a strange direction for the conversation to go, and I couldn't help the warm glow I felt in my gut. He really noticed things about me, picked up on things I didn't even know I was putting out. I stared down at my hands, a small smile growing on my lips. I could have stopped it and forced my usual impassive stare onto my face, but I decided to allow myself the small pleasure of a smile.

Although Stiles was clearly distracted, he managed to drive us to Lydia's house without incident, pulling up on the curb outside her house and turning off the ignition, hands going limp in his lap.

“Stiles?” I asked hesitantly, reaching across the cab to lightly touch his shoulder. His head snapped towards me, and he blinked, eyes alight with despair and confusion. I frowned in concern. “Are you okay?” I wondered warily.

“What?” he asked dumbly, caramel eyes focused on me.

“We're at Lydia's house,” I said. He glanced back out the windscreen, seeming surprised that we'd arrived at our destination.

“Lydia!” he said suddenly, eyes wide.

He tried to rip off his seatbelt, but it got stuck, and he tugged at it frantically, trying to get free. Still frowning, I reached across and hit the button calmly, watching as it clicked open smoothly. He didn't stop or even thank me, merely tripping from the car and moving to the back, taking the large present from the backseat and hoisting it up in his arms.

“Are you coming or what, Juliet?” he called loudly, and I cringed at the way he said my name; like we were strangers, and he was doing his best not to forget it.

I slipped from the Jeep gracefully, heels clicking on the pavement as I made my way up to the front door, following the path Stiles had taken.

He stopped at the door, realising he didn't have enough hands to ring the doorbell _and_ hold the oversized wrapped gift. “Can-can you?” he asked, bobbing his head towards the bell.

I sighed, rolling my eyes and pressing the button, listening as the sound echoed through the house.

“ _Happy birthday_ ,” he sang the moment the door was pulled open, lowering the box just enough so you could spot his face, a bright grin on his face, though I felt like it was covering something heavier. I wanted to ask what was wrong, but we were in neither the right time nor place. “I'm coming in,” he announced, stepping forwards, only to be blocked, the door being narrower than the present in his arms. “Uh-hang on,” he muttered with a concentrated frown, shoving the box through the doorway, the wrapping crinkling as he forced it.

Lydia closed her eyes, clearly praying for patience. Maybe we weren't so different after all. “Don't forget to try the punch!” she called, turning around and strutting from the room, leaving Stiles to struggle all by his lonesome.

I stepped forwards, pressing my hand to the side next to his face and giving it a hard shove. Stiles, still attached to the box, stumbled through the door, dropping it on the ground. He pushed it out of the way, dusted his hands off with a satisfied smile then turned to walk into the house.

“Stiles?” I asked, he paused then turned around, seeming almost reluctant to do so.

“Yeah?” he asked with forced casualness.

My only reply was to press my hand against the barrier preventing me from entering the home, my skin fanning out like it was being pressed to glass, although it was merely air.

“ _Oh_ ,” he mumbled in realisation.

“Are we going to call her back so she can invite me in?” I asked, a tad impatient.

His hands shot to his hips as he assessed the situation. “It might make her suspicious,” he said with a frown.

“And me standing out in the cold during her party won't?” I countered with raised eyebrows.

“Go around back,” he finally suggested, pointing to the edge of the house and the small gate that sat there. “I think it'll mostly be held in the backyard, and you can go there without an invite, right?”

“Should be fine,” I nodded, turning around without further comment and walking around the side, pushing open the small metal gate and walking through the damp grass until I made my way into the backyard, hands tucked into the pockets of my leather jacket.

There weren't as many people in attendance as Stiles had made it seem like there would be. I could count the amount of people there on my hands, and the ones I could name on only my left.

Allison.

“Hi,” I greeted her politely, walking at an agonisingly slow, human pace to meet her where she stood by the pool.

“Oh thank God,” she said upon seeing me, a small, forced smile on her lips. “Finally someone I can stand.”

“I know how you feel,” I muttered, gazing at the tiny group of strangers with contempt. “The snake here yet?” I asked, instinctively sniffing the air to see if I could pick up his usual overpowering cologne.

“No,” she replied. “Not yet, anyway.” She sighed tiredly, running a hand over her hair to smooth away any errant strands. “Did you come with Stiles?”

“Yeah.”

“I love what you're wearing, by the way. It's classy, but it's still _you_.”

“Are you implying that I'm not inherently classy?” I asked primly.

Allison giggled, and I smirked, looking over the pathetic excuse for a party. “There are the boys,” Allison said, a small smile on her lips too as she watched Scott and Stiles talk idly while they took their time approaching. “Uh, Jackson's not here,” she muttered once we'd gotten within hearing range, both boys nodding.

“No one's here,” Stiles commented, and I snorted indelicately at the observation.

“Maybe it's just early,” Scott suggested weakly.

“Or maybe nobody's coming because Lydia's turning into the town _whack-job_ ,” he countered scathingly, and I didn't bother hiding the smirk that appeared on my lips.

“Well we have to do something, because we've completely ignored her for the past two weeks,” said Allison, ever the kind one, gaze sliding to where the girl stood all alone, a tray full of punch in her palm.

“She's completely ignored Stiles the last ten _years_ ,” Scott retorted, and my smirk only grew.

“I prefer to think of it as me not having been on her radar yet...”

“We don't owe her a party,” he continued, ignoring his best friend, and I wholeheartedly agreed.

“What about the chance to get back to normal?”

“Normal?”

“She wouldn't be the town whack-job if it wasn't for us,” she said, a crease appearing on the smooth skin between her brows.

“I _guess_ I could use my co-captain status to get the lacrosse team here,” he relented with a sigh, cringing at the thought.

“Yeah, I also know some people who could get this thing going. Like, _really_ going,” Stiles said, pulling his phone from the pocket of his jeans.

“Who?”

“I met them the other night. Let's just say they know how to party.”

They all looked at me expectantly, and I raised my eyebrows, confused. “What?” I asked obliviously. Stiles' expression flattened into a pointed frown and I realised what they were waiting for. “Hate to break it to you, but I don't exactly have a wide network. Or any network. My network is the people on this deck.”

“That's so sad,” Stiles mumbled sympathetically, and I curled back my lip slightly, exposing the tips of my fangs and shooting him a lethal glare. His heart stuttered and he wandered away, pressing his phone up to his ear, trying to look more busy than he actually was.

Damn kid.

* * *

“So anyway, then the lady says to me 'Sir, you can't smoke that in here, not only is it against regulation, it's illegal'.”

I didn't bother faking interest, merely sipping my punch and staring across the yard at Stiles, who was talking animatedly to Scott.

I couldn't help but admire the way his cheeks flushed as he gestured dramatically, his whole being lighting up as he spoke. He was so very… I looked for the right word to describe him, but the only one I could come up with was _alive._

He was the opposite of me; his heart pumped blood through his body, while mine lay dead and useless in a cold chest. I'd been attracted to humans in the past, but nothing that went beyond the most basic of physical urges.

But was that what this was? Attraction?

I wasn't sure the word properly conveyed everything I was going through, but to put any other word to the feeling was far too scary a venture.

Sure, I'd been through it before with countless people over the years, but it'd never been like this before. At least, not since Klaus. I suppose there hadn't been anyone in my life since I'd flicked the humanity switch, so now I was experiencing feelings in a way I hadn't since I was human, or even more so, if you took into account the way vampires experienced heightened emotions.

I took another sip of the punch, eyes never leaving Stiles even as I grimaced at the taste. It wasn't exactly appetising, but it gave me something to do, let me get away with not replying to people.

“Are you even listening to me?”

I huffed, turning to face the stoned boy, annoyed. “Leave me alone,” I ordered him, meeting his eyes with my own little party trick. He immediately shut up, spinning on his heel and striding away, off to bother somebody else. With a relieved sigh I leaned back against the pillar, cocking my head as I thoughtlessly continued to listen in on Stiles and Scott's conversation.

“ _I mean, we're getting our asses royally kicked, if you hadn't noticed. People are dying, I got my dad fired, you're getting held back in school, after ten years of being infatuated with Lydia I think I might be actually falling in love with a_ vampire _, and if on top of all that I've gotta watch you lose Allison to a stalker like Matt, then I'm going to stab myself in the face_.”

The sound of breaking glass met my ears and the chatter around me came to a halt. I noticed an irritating stinging sensation in my palm and glanced down to see the glass of punch I'd been holding now in shards. I stared, unable to process anything that had just happened, my ears ringing sharply.

“You okay, darling?” A queen asked me, appearing at my side, taking my hand in hers and peering down at the gashes the glass had made on my palm. I numbly unclenched my hand, letting the dangerous shards clatter down to the concrete.

“I'm fine,” I assured her tonelessly.

She started to protest but I ignored her, spinning on my heel and striding towards the house. I was surprised when I hit an invisible barrier, only to hiss in anger when I realised what the problem was. I took a deep, steadying breath, considering my options. Walking over to the pool, I dipped my hand into the water, letting it cleanse my wounds.

Once the gashes were free of glass they immediately started healing, but I doubted anyone would come close enough to notice. Besides, I had more important things on my mind to worry about.

Stiles thought he was in _love_ with me?

My first thought was one of pleasure. But then the harsh reality kicked in. I felt merely numb and void. It didn't matter in the end, nothing could ever happen. Sure, I'd had flings with humans in the past – most sexual, based on bloodlust and manipulation, but I knew it was physically possible. But Stiles didn't deserve that, he needed more out of life than a girl forever frozen in her teens, whose heart didn't even beat.

I was still crouched by the water, lost in my thoughts when a hand dropped onto my shoulder. I jumped, startled by the touch, pushing myself to my feet and gazing at Stiles cooly. If my heart could beat it would be racing. But it remained as dead as always, useless and cold in my chest.

“Jackson's here,” Stiles told me, unaffected by my icy stare.

I shook my head once to clear it, forcing myself to switch gears. _Priorities, Juliet._

“So what do we do?” I asked, voice a mere growl.

Stiles blinked, but by now knew better than to press. “There's nothing we _can_ do,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Just keep an eye out. See if the master makes an appearance, I guess.” I nodded, eyes sweeping the crowd absently. “Anyway, I need to go find Scott. I just wanted to warn you.”

I nodded once, a sharp bob of my head. “Okay,” I said, moving past him, heading for the punch.

“Jules!” he called to me before I could escape. Gritting my teeth, I looked to him expectantly. “Are you okay?”

He was genuinely concerned, I realised as I stared into his whisky eyes. But I wasn't in the right headspace to care. “Yes, Stiles,” I told him robotically, forcing my lips up into a hollow grin that he didn't buy for a second.

Looking away, I turned on my heel and made a beeline for the punch. I didn't want to deal with reality. Didn't want to face everything I knew I could never have. It wasn't fair.

I ladled myself another cupful of the spiked punch, throwing it back like a shot and then grimacing at the strange bite it had. There was alcohol, obviously, but there was also something else, something sickly sweet and _wrong_ about it. But I couldn't put my finger on what it was.

“ _Juliet_.”

I looked up, dead heart dropping to my feet as I heard the familiar way my name was whispered. That voice… That voice haunted my nightmares. It made me want to start running and to never, ever stop.

“ _Juliet_.”

It was coming from the corner of the yard. It was impossible, I knew that, and yet I couldn't stop myself from putting down my glass, still half full of weird punch, and cautiously making my way towards where the voice was coming from.

“ _Juliet…_ ”

Then there he was, standing in the shadows, suit perfectly unwrinkled, devious smirk in place. My eyes filled with tears and my hands balled into fists. It was all I could do to say his name through dry, trembling lips. “Klaus,” I breathed shakily.

“ _Hello Juliet_ ,” the Original Vampire greeted me calmly, as handsome – if not more – as he'd ever been.

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?” I hissed furiously, unable to look away. I had to check that Stiles was okay. I had to know he was safe. Against my better judgement, I glanced over my shoulder, scanning the crowd for my pale friend.

Klaus chuckled darkly, the sound like fresh blood mixed with the darkest of chocolate. “ _Looking for Stiles_?” he purred.

I snapped back around to face him, glare firmly in place. My heart couldn't beat, but I could almost hear its phantom pounding in my ears. “How do you-?”

“ _Know about Stiles_?” he asked around that familiar, roguish smirk. “ _I know everything, Juliet. You know_ _that_.” He cocked his head in that predatory way. It took a lot to spook me. Not even a murderous alpha could bring me to my knees. But this one vampire? Every cell within me was terrified, vibrating like they wanted to escape. “ _Not to worry, your little human boyfriend is perfectly fine. I haven't hurt a hair on his head…yet._ ”

My whole body tensed and it was getting harder to breathe. “If you touch him-” I snarled.

“ _You'll...what_?” Klaus questioned, baby blue eyes narrowing. “ _You'll kill me_? _You know I can't be killed_.”

“I'll find a way,” I swore.

“ _Now now, Juliet, it's been so long since we last spoke. Let's not spend our time together fighting._ ”

“Go fuck yourself.”

My hands were shaking, trembling as my body flooded with adrenaline. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't make them stop. Klaus' smirk only widened. He was enjoying this.

He was here. He'd come back for me; to use me at his whim. Would he try to make me flick my switch? Come back to the life I thought I'd left far, far behind me? The possibilities were terrifying. And I knew Stiles wouldn't escape unscathed. Because either Klaus would kill him in an attempt to convert me back to a soulless monster, or I'd switch back anyway and kill Stiles myself, just for making me feel something other than blind hatred.

Acting out of terror and desperation, my arm moved without my consent. All I knew was that a second later I was swinging. A punch wouldn't do much against Klaus, but it was all I could think of to do, the only way I had of acting out against him.

But instead of meeting cheekbone, my fist met thin air and I overbalanced. Hurrying to steady myself, I stared wide-eyed at the space where Klaus had only just been standing. He was gone, not even a scent on a wind to prove he'd been there at all.

“Jules!” came a new voice, and I flinched, whirling around to throw another punch. But it was Scott who caught my fist, frowning at me worriedly. I swallowed thickly, breathing hard even though I didn't need air to survive.

“Scott?” I whispered, wondering if he'd seen Klaus too.

But Scott held my trembling fist in a tight grip, meeting my stare with admirable calm. “Whatever you're seeing, it's not real,” he told me surely.

I let out a harsh breath, pulling my fist from his hand and running my fingers through my hair. My whole body was tense, muscles taut with panic. Klaus wasn't here. We were all safe.

“What the _hell_ is going on, Scott?” I hissed once I'd recovered, still trembling with barely contained anger. “We're all _hallucinating_?”

“I don't know what's happening,” he replied, voice quiet as he stared suspiciously out at the crowd of intoxicated teens. “But it's happening to everyone.”

“How?”

“I don't know,” he said again. “We'll figure it out. But first I need your help to sober up Stiles.”

Just the sound of his name helped me focus, and I brought my attention back to the present, reminding myself for the tenth time that Klaus hadn't been real. It had just been my own fucked up imagination.

Clearing my throat, I scanned the party. “Where is he?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

Scott was staring at me with concern that I was determined to ignore. “By the pool.”

Finally spotting the human kid by the pool, I took off, seeming for all the world to magically reappear beside Stiles. He was sat on the ground, staring unseeingly into the distance.

“Stiles?” I asked hesitantly, leaning into his line of sight. He didn't seem to notice I was there at all. What if whatever had happened to me was happening to him? What kind of horrors would his own mind conjure up to torture him? I was ashamed to say I was curious.

Bringing my hands up to Stiles' face, I pressed my palms against his cheeks and tilted his head up. “Stiles?” I asked again, worry like an anvil in my gut. “You need to focus. Can you hear me?”

“What do you think you're doing?” a new voice asked. Looking up, I glowered at the girl for the interruption. But to my irritation, she didn't seem the least bit bothered by my death stare. “If you want to sober him up, that's not the way to do it,” she continued brightly.

Scott had finally reached us – slower than me by a mile. “You can do better?” he asked her thinly, keeping me from snapping back rudely, which was probably in everyone's best interest. The last thing we needed was for me to take a bite out of some innocent high school girl.

“I can do best,” she responded confidently, taking Stiles from my hands and unceremoniously shoving him head first in the icy pool water. Eyes wide, I watched as Stiles shot out from underneath the water, eyes wide and alert. “How do you feel?” the girl asked Stiles once he was back upright, spluttering and dripping wet.

He sniffled, glaring at the girl darkly. “Like I might have to revisit my policy on hitting a girl.”

“He's sober,” the strange girl declared with a nod.

“Thank you,” Scott told her graciously, but I wasn't in the fucking moo. I took Stiles by the arm and gently but firmly hauled him to his feet.

“Are you alright?” I asked once he was upright, clutching his shoulders, staring up into his whisky eyes. My concern was palpable, but for once I didn't care. All that mattered was Stiles.

He swallowed loudly, reaching up to rub the water from his red eyes. “I will be,” he told me surely. I wasn't convinced, but because we were on a clock, it would just have to do. I nodded once, glancing at Scott as he joined us.

“We need to find Lydia,” he said seriously. “Jules, you check around the front. Stiles and I will look inside.”

“You got it,” I responded with a nod, squeezing Stiles' shoulders once more, hoping it was in some way comforting. He shot me an unsteady smile, watching as I spun around and headed for the gate.

Lydia wasn't out the front of her house, and she wasn't in any of the surrounding cars either. I frowned, cocking my head to the side and sniffing the air. I couldn't tell which scent was hers, the whole place stunk of alcohol and perfume. Scowling I darted back around to the backyard, meeting up with Stiles and Scott by the edge of the pool.

“Find her?” I asked quickly.

“She's not anywhere,” Stiles said, huffing with frustration. “Can you pick up her scent?”

“Not on top of everything else.”

“Guys, anyone who drank that crap – they're freaking out,” Stiles continued, surveying the surrounding group of crazed teens with narrowed eyes. If whatever it was had affected me, then it sure as hell would have affected the humans. Some people were shouting at thin air, while others were sobbing on the floor, begging for help. It was like someone had thrown a party at the local asylum.

I watched detachedly as some people began throwing their friends into the pool, frowning in displeasure when the splash wet my bare legs. “Watch it, asshole,” I snarled at the nearest guy, a dopey grin on his face. He ignored me and I curled my hands into fists.

Stiles' heart was racing with panic, and he reeked of anxiety. “What the hell do we do?” he asked Scott and I, as if either of us had an answer.

But before I could come up with something to say, there was a loud cry of, “ _I can't swim!_ ”

All our heads snapped to the source of the scream, eyes sliding to Matt's struggling form, desperately scrambling to get out of a larger teenager's arms. I watched impassively as they threw him into the water.

Stiles was right – it looked like Matt wasn't all that innocent after all. None of us moved, watching as the boy struggled to reach the top of the water, gasping for breath. Part of me wondered if I should pull him out, but if we were right and this kid _was_ the kanima's master, that meant I owed him absolutely nothing.

Luckily – well, lucky for Matt, I supposed – Jackson crouched beside the water, reaching in nonchalantly and pulling the drowning boy from the depths, hoisting him up like he weighed nothing.

The kid looked like a drowned rat, water dripping from his soaked clothes and flattened hair. “What are you looking at?” he snapped irritably as everyone from the party stared shamelessly. He glared at anyone who met his eyes, stomping off in our direction. We didn't budge, standing right where we were, preventing him from getting through.

I knew I couldn't expose myself, but my lip still curled back as I growled at him under my breath. He swallowed and continued to glare, shoving past Stiles and Scott, rushing for the doorway.

“Should I-?” I began to offer.

“No,” said Scott with a shake of his head. He couldn't have known what I was going to say, but his answer was probably for the best anyway.

Before any of us could comment on what we had just seen, a loud siren broke the air. “Cops are here!” an older guy yelled, and all at once everyone was scrambling to get out to escape the police.

I swallowed my aggravation, instincts telling my to protect Stiles. I grabbed his arm, ignoring the alarmed shout he gave, and lifted him up. He shut his eyes as he felt the earth drop out from under him. By the time he opened his eyes again, he was sitting in his Jeep, curled up on the drivers seat.

“What?” he squawked in confusion as I tugged his keys free from his pocket, handing them to him carefully. “But Scott-” he tried to say.

“Can take care of himself,” I replied. “Now drive, Stiles.”

And for once in his life, Stiles didn't even argue.


	24. Paralysed

_I can't control myself, don't know who I've been_

_And who is this monster wearing my skin?_

_A movie in black and white. When will it end?_

_'Cause every time I scream no one hears me_

Paralysed – Against The Current

* * *

“ _Scott, do you know how many people I deal with in a day_?” Melissa McCall asked her son seriously, already exhausted. The Sheriff frowned at the phone, not even bothering to kick my feet off from where they were resting on the edge of his desk, my chair leant precariously on two legs.

I was glad that I'd convinced Stiles to take me home so I could change into more comfortable clothes than that damn dress. I felt more prepared for anything now that I was in my leather pants, flat boots and an old sweater I'd dug out of my closet.

“This one's sixteen. He's got dark hair, looks like a normal teenager,” Scott listed desperately, clinging to the hope that she remembered him.

“He looks evil!” Stiles added, making the sheriff roll his eyes.

“ _Scott, I already talked to the police about this_.”

He muttered his reply before taking a picture and sending it to her with the magic of modern technology. “Did you get it?” he asked eagerly.

“ _Yeah_ ,” she responded.

“Do you recognise him? Do you remember him?”

“ _Yeah, I do. I remember I stopped him because he was tracking mud in the hall. Scott, what's going on?_ ”

He mumbled a promise to explain later, hanging up the phone and turning to Stiles' father expectantly. “We've got shoe prints alongside the tyre tracks at the trailer site,” he said, rifling through the files in front of him.

“If they match that puts Matt at the scene of three murders,” Stiles interjected. “The trailer, the hospital and the rave.”

I removed my legs from the desk without prompting, tugging the chair I was in closer so I could peer over the desk at their findings. “Actually, four,” the Sheriff said. “A credit card receipt for an oil change was signed by Matt at the garage where the mechanic was killed. A couple hours before you got there.”

“Dad, if one's an incident, two's a coincidence and three's a pattern, then what's four?”

“Four's enough for a warrant.” We all ignored Stiles as he pumped his fist in the air in triumph. “Scott, call your mom back, see how quick she can get here, if I can get an official ID, I can get a search warrant. Stiles, go to the front desk, tell them to let Scott's mom in when she gets here.”

“On it,” the kid said, jumping at the task and scurrying from the room.

“Juliet,” he began once Stiles had disappeared out the door and Scott had spoken to his mother. I looked up expectantly, one eyebrow cocked as I waited. “Maybe you should sit this one out. Go home, get some rest. We'll keep you in the loop if anything happens.”

I hesitated, wondering how did I could politely say that I wasn't going fucking anywhere. Brow furrowed, I prepared to bullshit my way through the next few minutes. “With all due respect, Sheriff-” I began slowly.

“We need her,” Scott interrupted me, staring up at the the older man with those wide, puppy-dog eyes.

The sheriff was hardly convinced. “Why?” he asked suspiciously. Probably wondering what a small teenage girl could possibly contribute to this situation.

Scott hesitated. He wasn't particularly good at this sort of thing. Maybe I should give him lessons. “Trust me, we just do,” he said weakly.

“Scott, what do you-?”

My arm snapped out to grasp the human man by the elbow, shocking him enough to silence him. He looked down at me in surprise while Scott cocked his head wearily. “What is it?” he asked, barely loud enough to be heard by the Sheriff's human ears, seeing the alarm spread across my face.

The strong, familiar scent was floating through the door that Stiles had left open, making my gums ache and my eyes sting. Hunger reared its head in my gut, like a beast roaring in my veins, and I suddenly wished it hadn't been so long since I'd last fed.

“Blood,” was all I said, but it was enough.

The sheriff was confused, but mine and Scott's attention instantly snapped to where we heard footsteps heading for the room we were in. My throat closed up as Matt stepped into our view, a handgun pointed at Stiles' head as he herded the human through the open door. I didn't dare move a muscle, too scared he would pull the trigger if he noticed me so much as flinch. I stopped breathing all together.

Sure, I was fast, but I wasn't faster than a speeding bullet shot at point-blank range.

But thankfully Matt didn't seem interested in holding Stiles personally hostage. He shoved the human roughly in the back, and Stiles stumbled deeper into the room. I was shocked when he came straight to my side, but I couldn't help but exhale with sharp relief as his hand found mine, our fingers threading together. His hand was sweaty and trembling, but I didn't care in the slightest.

“Matt?” the sheriff said cautiously, hands held out placatingly. “It's Matt, right?” he asked, but the psychopathic teenager didn't react. “Matt, whatever's going on I guarantee there's a solution that doesn't involve a gun.”

“You know, it's funny you say that because I don't think you're aware of just how right you are,” Matt sneered condescendingly, gun steady in his hand. I heard the near-silent sound of Scott stealthily pressing buttons on his phone, probably trying to alert someone about our situation.

The sheriff kept his cool. “I know you don't want to hurt people.”

“Actually, I want to hurt a _lot_ of people,” Matt corrected him with a carefree smile, and suddenly he reminded me of myself only a short year ago. But unlike me, there wasn't some magical button he could push that would turn him good again. “You four weren't on my list, but I can be persuaded, and one way is to try dialling somebody on your cellphone like McCall is doing.”

Teeth grinding together, I bit back the feral growl building in my chest. Stiles' grip on my hand tightened as he glanced over his shoulder at his best friend, who had squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.

“That could definitely get someone hurt. Everyone,” Matt commanded, gesturing to the desk with the gun. “ _Now_!” he shouted when nobody moved.

I wasn't breathing, the scent of freshly spilled blood still drifting through the station. With my free hand I pulled out my shitty cell phone, tossing it carelessly onto the desk where it was of no help at all. Stiles and his dad did the same.

Matt glanced away for a moment and I knew I had an opening. I could attack him – end this right now. I wouldn't be faster than a bullet, but as long as I was the one he shot then nobody would really get hurt. But what if he aimed for Stiles, or Scott? I wouldn't survive it if I got one of them killed.

But even before I could make up my mind, Stiles seemed to sense what I was trying to do and squeezed my hand tighter. Glancing over at him, he met my stare and shook his head once, pleading with me not to move.

But that was okay. There were other ways of helping that didn't involve letting go of Stiles' hand.

My expression fell flat and my pupils dilated as I turned to Matt, catching his eyes in the space between us.

“Matt,” I began, and for a moment Matt's expression fell flat. “Put the gun down,” I compelled him, voice like a siren, more song than words.

But instead of complying, Matt's expression shuttered with fury and he took a large step forwards, the safety of his gun clicking off and its end aimed directly at my unbeating heart.

The compulsion hadn't worked. Why? My eyes darted to the band around his thin wrist, and I realised then that Allison had given him one of the vervain cuffs out of the batch Stiles had supplied her. My fangs were aching with the need to be released, but I held back, gripping Stiles' hand as tightly as I could without shattering his bones.

Matt was furious. “You think you can bat your pretty green eyes at me and I'm going to do whatever you say?” he sneered at me, tone holding a dangerous bite.

I was unbothered by the gun aimed at my heart. If I wasn't risking everybody else's life, Matt would have been long since dead by now. A sour smile twitched at my lips, my eyes promising violence. “It was worth a try,” I said simply.

He returned my smirk. “First things first, let's put the sheriff in his cuffs,” he commanded, gesturing again with his gun for us to lead the way through the station. I refused to let go of Stiles' hand, using it to force him in front of me, so I was the one closest to the end of Matt's gun. The gunman swiped a pair of cuffs off a desk on the way, shoving them into Stiles' free hand the moment we were in the lock up area.

Stiles made to pull away to do as he was told, but fear gripped my frozen heart like a pair of clawed hands, and I held hard, refusing to let him go. I didn't want him away from me for even a second. The closer I was, the quicker I could move him out of the way of a bullet.

“Jules,” Stiles whispered, looking into my eyes. Whisky brown met emerald green and I knew cooperating was the best bet to keep us all safe. It wasn't just our lives in jeopardy. It was his dad's. And if cooperating was the best way to keep him safe, then Stiles was going to do whatever was necessary. And that was something I could understand.

_Very_ reluctantly, I let go of his hand, watching as he moved over to his dad. “Tighter,” Matt barked at Stiles when he loosely secured the cuffs onto his dad's wrist.

“Do what he says,” the sheriff said with a reassuring nod, and with a scowl Stiles complied, tightening the metal cuff so it was tight as a band around his wrist.

The moment he was finished, Matt forced him away from his father, pulling him back in front of him. I leaned forwards, connecting our hands again the second he was close enough. I found comfort in the skin to skin contact. It reminded me that he was right beside me, and that – for now, at least – he was safe.

As we turned a corner the smell of freshly spilled blood grew even more potent. Immediately I stopped breathing, all my concentration channelled into resisting the urge to feed. Stiles felt me tense up and his thumb brushed soothing circles onto the back of my hand, even though he didn't know what was wrong. I wondered if he'd be so quick to comfort me if he knew I was struggling not to crouch down beside a steadily cooling corpse and lick the blood off its dull skin.

“What, are you going to kill everyone in here?!” Scott exclaimed as we passed a hallway with dead, bloodied bodies littering the floor like the most sick kind of confetti.

Matt smirked. “No, that's what Jackson's for.”

At the sight of the blood, the veins under my eyes became apparent and I had to angle my head downwards so nobody saw.

It had been so long since I'd had fresh blood – especially directly from the vein. My hunger was like a tangible thing. Like a beast in my gut, roaring at me to break, to let it loose to feast.

“I just think about killing them,” Matt continued calmly, a smug smirk on his pale lips. “And he does it.”

“What are you doing, Matt?” Scott asked as the gun pressed to my back, forcing us further down the hall, away from the allure of the spilled blood. Small mercies, I supposed. “What's the point?”

But Matt didn't answer. “You're going to destroy the evidence against me,” he snarled, shoving us into the office we'd just vacated and grabbing my arm, hauling me away from the others. I could have fought him, but as far as he was concerned, I was human. So I let him drag me even though it hurt my pride to do so. “And if you don't, I'll shoot her in the head,” Matt threatened with that repulsive smirk of his.

Stiles was trembling and even Scott looked fearful. They probably weren't sure whether a bullet to the head was something I could recover from. I wished I had some way of telling them it was all right. I could have attacked him then, but if he had shot me, one of two things would happen: if he managed to hit the right spot in my brain, I would be rendered unconscious and therefore unable to protect my friends; or, if he missed anything majorly important, then nothing would happen and my secret would be out. And on top of that there was a tiny chance, however small, that he could have wooden bullets, one shot aimed at my heart and it was game over.

I contemplated snapping his neck, I would have been able to do it before he pulled the trigger, but I couldn't stomach the thought of Stiles seeing me take a human life. I'd left that life behind me, and the last thing I wanted to do was jump headfirst back into it. I was like an addict; scared that if I did it even once, I wouldn't ever be able to stop.

No, Matt's death would only come at my hands if the boys' lives were under serious threat. We had to do as he said, stay on his good side, because we were a mere thought away from an encounter with the kanima. For now, I was fairly certain he wouldn't kill any of us. So I'd just wait it out, even though I loathed to do so. Even though the monster within in me snarled and paced in its cage, hungry for blood.

“Alright, it's deleted and we're done,” Stiles muttered angrily, pressing some buttons on the keyboard before glancing up at me with worry, having completed his task in the time I'd been mulling over my options. “So, Matt, since all the people you've brutally murdered deserved it because they killed you first – whatever that means – we're good here, right? You'll just let Juliet go, we'll get my dad and we'll go and you can just continue on the whole vengeance thing. Enjoy the kanima.”

Matt was silent, thoughtful, but before we could hear his answer, headlights beamed in through the window. All of us turned our heads towards the interruption, and I held back a sigh at the timing. “Sounds like your mom's here, McCall,” Matt drawled.

“Matt, don't do this,” Scott begged him, desperate. “When she comes to the door, I'll just tell her to leave. I'll tell her we didn't find anything. _Please,_ Matt.”

“If you don't move, now, I'm gonna kill Juliet first, then Stiles, and _then_ your mom,” Matt replied without so much as a morsel of compassion. It was quiet for a beat, then the bell above the main entrance chimed, signalling the arrival of Scott's innocent mother. “Open it,” Matt ordered harshly.

“Please,” Scott begged him brokenly.

Matt nearly snarled. I wondered whether he were becoming more monster than human. Because that's what killing did to a person. It destroyed their very humanity itself. “Open. The. Door,” he commanded Scott in a sneer.

Reluctantly, Scott turned the handle, opening it to reveal Derek, staring dead ahead, a blank look in his eyes. Immediately I knew something was wrong. “Oh thank God,” an oblivious Scott breathed in relief.

But Derek fell to the floor to reveal a half scaly Jackson standing behind him, eyes yellow and reptilian, all humanity gone from his face.

“This is the one controlling him?” Derek asked from his place paralysed on the ground, blessedly alive. “ _This_ kid?”

“I know,” I drawled, eyeing the guy holding the gun to my head with distaste. “Anticlimactic, isn't it?”

Matt bristled next to me. “Well Derek, not everyone's lucky enough to be a big, bad werewolf,” he sneered, ignoring my comment. The room went still with shock. “Oh _yeah,_ that's right! I've learned a few things lately. Werewolves, vampires, hunters, kanimas. It's like a freaking halloween party every full moon. Except for _you_ , Stiles. What do you turn into?”

“Abominable snowman,” he retorted smartly. “But it's more of like a winter time thing, you know, seasonal.”

“Hm,” Matt hummed, faking interest. “Must be hard, being human and having a dead, bloodthirsty, sadistic vampire girlfriend,” he said, smirking broadly. “You know she's using you, right? You know they can't actually _feel_ love? Her heart doesn't even _beat_ -”

“Shut the hell-” Stiles began to shout, only for Jackson's hand to snap out, claws scratching the back of his neck, instantly paralysing him. He wobbled for a moment before falling uselessly to the floor, collapsing on top of a glowering Derek.

I reacted instantly, fangs slipping free as I snarled at Jackson in warning. He merely held up a hand, a silent warning not to do anything stupid.

“Get him _off_ of me,” Derek grumbled sourly from the ground.

“Oh, I don't know Derek, I think you two make a pretty good pair,” Matt said blithely, enjoying the situation like some kind of fucking psychopath. Usually I was the antagonist. It wasn't so fun being on the other side of things. “It must kinda suck though, to have all that power taken away from you with a little cut to the back of the neck. I bet you're not used to feeling this helpless.”

The alpha mumbled something about his teeth, flashing them for extra effect, but the unstable kid wasn't in the mood. He opened his mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by another set of headlights shining through the windows.

“Is that her?” he asked with a sickening smirk, meaning Scott's mom. “Do what I tell you to, and I won't hurt her. I won't even let Jackson near her,” he said with false sweetness.

“Don't trust him!” Stiles shouted from his pathetic position on top of Derek.

Matt snapped, reaching down and grabbing the back of Stiles' shirt, ripping him from Derek and throwing him down on the hard floor, pressing a foot to his neck. I snarled again, hand snapping out and striking the bastard across the face. His head snapped to the side and suddenly Jackson was on top of me, one arm around my neck, the other pressed to the skin of my neck.

Matt turned to look at me, cheek red from where I'd hit him. “Now,” he began, all saccharine and tense, “I know the venom won't paralyse you, but I've heard it _will_ slow your healing process,” he said, and on some silent command Jackson sliced through the skin covering the top of my spine. It stung and I felt a drop of cold blood roll down my back. “Now back off, or a bullet goes in your brain. I'd like to see you spit it out without your healing abilities, you filthy leech.”

Fangs sliding free, I snarled at him in warning, every instinct in me telling me to kill him. To tear off his head and put it on a pike.

“Stop!” Scott hissed as Matt brandished his gun at my head. “Stop. I'll do what you want, just _stop,_ ” he pleaded.

“Good,” Matt purred, seemingly satisfied. “You,” he said, barely glancing at the kanima. “Take them in there. _You_ ,” he continued, gesturing to Scott. “With me.”

Jackson bent down to pick up Stiles, but I wasn't having any of it. I grabbed his wrist, hissing at him warningly. “Don't you touch him,” I growled in warning. The kanima hesitated, glancing at his master for direction. Matt considered me for a beat, then nodded once, making Jackson back off.

I reached down myself, hooking my hands under Stiles' arms and gently dragging him into the office. As soon as we were over the threshold, I softy put him down, crouching beside him, pressing a gentle hand to his neck, examining the boot print left behind from Matt's attack.

“Will a bullet in the brain kill you?” Stiles whispered up at me worriedly, concern shining in his eyes.

“No,” I assured him just as quietly, scanning him for any other injuries. “But without my ability to heal, it'll definitely put me out of action for a while.” I leaned closer, eyes Jackson wearily where he stood on the other side of the room. “Are you okay?” I whispered, my hair falling over the side of his face, giving us the faint illusion of privacy.

“Apart from the paralysis, you mean?” he asked with a wince, before pasting on a brave expression. It wasn't enough to make me smile, and he winced, attempting to nod but not having much luck. “I'm alright. Or, I will be, once this Goddamn night is over.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, “I know what you mean.”

There was the deafening bang of a gun from a room over and Stiles' eyes widened in fear.

I cocked my head to the side, listening intently to what was happening on the other side of the wall. “Scott's been shot,” I told him hesitantly. “He's okay,” I assured him when his heartbeat skyrocketed. “He'll heal.”

He swallowed thickly, struggling to make his muscles cooperate. “And his mom?”

“She's fine,” I confirmed, watching him exhale in relief.

There was a hissing noise from the corner, and I glanced up to see Jackson with his lip pulled back over his teeth, slitted eyes fixed on me. My own upper lip curled and I let out an animalistic snarl, flashing my razor sharp fangs in warning.

We were quiet, I continued to watch the kanima while Stiles concentrated on breathing and Derek glared angrily at the ceiling. All I could do was listen to what was happening on the other side of the wall. I wasn't willing to leave Stiles alone. I'd have rathered take the bullet to the brain than leave Stiles unprotected and have something happen to him while I was distracted.

Time seemed to take forever to pass, but eventually Scott stumbled into the room, Matt holding a gun to his chest. He was bleeding from his side, and I winced in sympathy. It wouldn't kill him, but it still looked incredibly painful.

“The evidence is gone,” the little wolf said desperately, sweat beading on his forehead, skin pallid from the injury. “Why don't you just _go_?”

“You think the evidence matters that much, huh? No, I want the book!” Matt replied tightly, barely sparing the rest of us a glance.

“What?” Scott asked, confusion colouring his tone. “What book?”

“The _bestiary_!” Matt snapped like Scott were an idiot, and the two paralysed men on the floor shot each other side glances. “Not just a few pages. I want the entire thing.”

Scott stared at him tiredly. “I don't have it. It's Gerard's. What do you need it for anyway?”  
  
Matt growled. “I need answers.”

“Answers to _what_?”

There was a pause, then Matt turned to the side, lifting his shirt and exposing his side. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but what I found definitely wasn't it. Scales, just like those of the kanima, were climbing his abdomen, the human skin giving way to something decidedly more reptilian. “To _this_.”

* * *

After that, it was more a waiting game than anything else. I remained sat on the floor over Stiles, refusing to leave his side. Derek was on the floor too, but I barely cast him a glance. Scott was busy with Matt, the two calling to Argents to arrange the handover of the book.

I watched Matt, taking in the shade of green he was steadily turning and the way his eyes had gone glassy and red.

“How much time do you think he has?” I whispered to Derek, leaning over Stiles so I was closer and nobody would be able to overhear.

“Not long,” he mumbled back, green eyes – a few shades lighter than my own – flickering to me before returning to the ceiling. “Not at the rate he's going.”

“Wait, you know what's happening to him?” Stiles hissed quietly.

I sat back on my legs, letting Derek explain this one as I kept a careful eye on Jackson in his half-turned state. He didn't seem to be paying any of us any attention, staring off into empty space with a dead look in his glassy eyes.

“So if Matt breaks the rules of the kanima, he _becomes_ the kanima,” Stiles said after Derek had finished, eyes flying around the room, heart rate slower than usual due to the paralysis. It concerned me, but all I could do was hope he'd be all right.

“The balance must be kept,” I whispered softly, my hand absentmindedly moving to his chest, calmed by the heavy beating of his heart under my palm. It seemed to stutter inside his chest cavity, and I wished it were enough to make me smile.

Stiles took a deep breath. “Will he believe us if we tell him that?”

“Not likely.”

“He's going to kill all of us when he gets that book, isn't he?”

“Yup.”

“Alright, so what do we _do_? Just sit here and wait to die?”

“Unless I can figure out a way to push the toxin out of my body fast enough. Like triggering the healing process,” Derek replied under his breath. “It'll take time,” he continued, glancing at me again. “You need to do something.”

“And what, get shot for my trouble?” I hissed back. “You can't afford me out of action with a bullet to the brain.”

“Well _someone_ has to-”

“ _You!_ ” Matt shouted, grasping under my arm and hauling me to my feet. With a grunt I let him manhandle me, aiding him by pushing myself upright. He'd probably just lose it some more if I resisted. “What are you whispering about? Not planning to try and be a hero are you?”

“Of course not,” I replied with an utterly saccharine smile.

Matt merely glared, stepping closer and pressing the gun to my temple. The metal was cold and hard against my skin, but my smile never wavered. “Good, because even if you _did_ manage to get the gun from me before I could pull the trigger, the kanima will still kill Stiles the _second_ I think it.”

My sunny smile turned deadly, lined by poison that promised death to come, “Noted.”

Matt's lips twitched up into a bitter smile, and he roughly threw me back onto Stiles. I let myself be pushed simply to appease him, collapsing beside Stiles, my hands braced on either side of his stomach. With a motion of his gun, Matt was ushering a still-bleeding Scott from the room. Stiles stared after his friend in concern, but he was quickly distracted by me.

“I could get you out of here,” I whispered.

His eyes widened. “What?” he asked breathlessly.

“I could take you and run,” I told him, ignoring the sour look that Derek shot me. “I'm just as fast as the kanima, if not faster. I can get you to safety.”

His eyes narrowed. “If you think I'm letting you do that, you've obviously inhaled too many vervain fumes,” he retorted, looking entirely unimpressed with my suggestion.

I wanted to argue, but I was distracted by the story that Matt was relaying dramatically to Scott. Stiles hissed at me in question, wondering what had captured my attention. With a frown I told him what I could hear, watching as he struggled to wince.

“Are you kidding me?” he asked when I paused for a breath. My throat burned as I inhaled, the intoxicating scent of blood still rich in the air. I was so hungry, every moment was a struggle to push down the urge to feed.

Before I could answer Stiles, the lights flicked off and plunged us into darkness. Stiles panicked but my eyes cut through the shadows easily, searching room for any hint of a threat. Stiles and Derek were utterly helpless right now – I was their only line of defense.

There was a loud banging in the main room where Scott and Matt were, and Stiles winced as the deafening sound of guns being fired hit his eardrums. “What the hell-?” he demanded as he fought the paralysis with everything he had, fighting to sit up.

“The Argents have arrived,” I informed him through an annoyed scowl. “Stay down,” I hissed, pressing down on his shoulder, keeping him on the floor. He glared up at me with irritation that I easily ignored.

A barrage of bullets shot through the glass to the right, shattering it with near deafening noise. I flattened myself to the floor, just barely avoiding a bullet to the brain. My palm remained braced on Stiles' chest, although I was careful not to let him take any of my weight. Derek grunted from the beside him and I peered over, narrowing my eyes as I took in the sight of the werewolf's leg twitching.

“Great,” I muttered bitterly. “All this time and _that's_ your progress.”

Derek didn't deign to reply. Smoke began to float into the room, the scent not quite enough to cover the rich scent of the spilled blood, but enough to dull it just a little. It was better than nothing, and I took a deep breath in.

Scott appeared out of the smoke, crouching down beside me. “Take him,” he instructed Derek, gesturing his head before bending down to collect Stiles.

“I've got him,” I argued, wrapping an arm around the human's waist and heaving him to his feet with ease. He was deadweight, but that wasn't a problem; he was still light as a feather. He grunted as I carried him through the door, Scott trailing close behind us, slamming doors in Jackson's face that he simply kicked down as though they were nothing.

I glanced at the door, again struck with the knowledge that I could take him and run, get Stiles to safety then come back to help the wolves.

“Don't you dare,” Stiles breathed sternly in my ear, seeming to know my very thoughts. Sometimes it was scary how well he knew me.

“Put him down,” Scott instructed me as we slipped into a new room. I scowled as I realised that the door we'd come in through was the only exit. It made me feel trapped. Nonetheless I followed the beta's command, gently lowering Stiles into a chair leant up against the wall. “Don't move.” The paralysed teen shot his best friend a glare. Scott winced. “You know what I mean.” He patted Stiles on the shoulder, spinning around and staring at the door. After a minute passed and Jackson still hadn't come smashing through the wood, he decided to venture out into the war zone. “Stay with Stiles,” he ordered me.

I was torn. I knew that Stiles needed the protection, but there was no way I could be expected to sit idly by, cowering in a corner over a helpless Stiles like some kind of fucking guard dog. I opened my mouth to retort but then Stiles coughed loudly, drawing my immediate attention. I stared down at him, his head hanging off the back of the chair, unable to hold it up himself.

I couldn't leave him if I tried.

“If anything happens, I can be there in seconds,” I told Scott in farewell, and with a final nod the teen wolf disappeared out the door, shutting it silently behind him.

“I'm fine, you know,” Stiles spoke up after a minute, the only sounds filling the room the occasional gunfire from outside. I raised an eyebrow at him, glancing pointedly at his paralysed body. “Aside from the paralysis, I mean,” he said, rolling his eyes exasperatedly. “You don't need to babysit me.”

“Well you can't exactly stop me, now can you?” I replied tightly, hands clenching into fists as I heard a shout of pain from down the corridor. I could be helping. I could be _doing_ something.

“Oh, nice, pick on the disabled guy,” Stiles retorted. “Real classy.”

“Stop talking.”

“Excuse me? I don't-”

My hand slapped over his lips. His eyes widened at the touch, staring up at me like I'd just told him I'd found the cure for vampirism. His lips were pursed against my skin, and although my attention was needed elsewhere, it made it difficult to concentrate.

Down the hall I could hear Scott talking in low, desperate tones with his tortured sounding girlfriend. “Allison,” I murmured, ignoring Stiles' worried look. I removed my hand from his face only to lean down so I could whisper to him. “I have to go,” I told him under my breath. “Can you feel this?” I asked, reaching down and pinching his thigh sharply.

He winced, glaring up at me, “Yes.”

“Good,” I nodded. “That means you're getting feeling back. As soon as you can, get out of here.”

Stiles blanched. “I'm not leaving you!” he swore valiantly.

“I just mean get out of this _room_ ,” I hissed back, ignoring the heart-stopping implication of his words. “There's only one exit, get somewhere with another escape route, and weapons if at all possible. Stay low and try not to make as much noise as usual.”

There was a yell from outside the room, and I cast one more glanced down at the helpless kid in front of me, trying to smile. I couldn't quite manage it. His eyes were wide and shiny with panic.

“Be safe,” I begged him hurriedly. He blinked once, swallowing loudly. Without stopping to think about what I was doing, I leant down and pressed my lips to his forehead. I held there for an extended moment, pushing how much I cared about him into the kiss, then pulled back and left the room without meeting his eyes.

Slipping out into the fray, my nose wrinkled in distaste as I inhaled a lungful of what I easily identified as teargas. Fucking hunters.

My eyes stung, but I was otherwise unaffected, darting through the smoke and heading in the direction I'd heard Allison and Scott arguing. Soft breaths were coming from around the corner, and even though I couldn't smell her through the stench of smoke, blood, and teargas, I was sure it was Allison.

I stepped into her line of sight, blinking in surprise as I was met with the tip of an arrow that had been loaded into a crossbow. I raised my eyebrows, looking from the razor sharp metal tip to the screaming eyes of the raven-haired human. When she didn't immediately lower it once she saw it was me, I grew wary.

“Allison,” I said gently, frowning when she flinched. I wasn't afraid – perhaps concerned was a better word. Something was wrong, and it hurt to see my friend so affected.

“Get out of my way,” Allison warned me, voice lethal and dark as her hooded eyes.

I tilted my head. “So you can do what?” I asked her deliberately, putting it together quickly. “You're not after the kanima – and you know that little arrow's not gonna make even a dent in its slimy skin – so who are you _really_ here for?”

Allison's eyes were hard as diamond, and twice as pretty. “Get out of my way,” she repeated.

“Or what?” I countered. “You'll shoot me?”

She didn't so much as blink. “Yes.”

It wasn't wood, and even if it were, it wouldn't bother me. An arrow launched from a crossbow wouldn't be fast enough to best me. Still, it stung a little to have a weapon aimed at my chest by someone I considered a close friend.

But I gave none of that hurt away. “Your parents and I have an agreement, you see,” I said carefully, green eyes meeting her teary chocolate pools. “I'm not to be touched. And I don't take well to threats,” I added, a small threat of my own.

She may have been a friend, one I cared about more than I'd ever be willing to admit, but that wasn't enough to change my outlook on being threatened.

“Well, I guess that agreement's under revision now that my mother's no longer alive,” Allison spat, as though I was somehow the cause of the her mom's death.

I grimaced in sympathy, moving to step closer, only to have her lift the crossbow once more, a silent warning not to come any closer. “Okay, so you're hurting,” I replied, hands held out placatingly. “I understand.”

“You don't _understand_ anything,” she seethed, pale pink lip curling back in such a human attempt at a snarl. “Get out of my way,” she hissed.

I wasn't about to let the emotionally unstable hunter anywhere near Stiles with a loaded crossbow, especially not with visibility this low. “No,” I told her simply.

I heard the trigger click and in the next heartbeat I had my fingers curled around the tail of the arrow, snatching it easily from the air and glaring stonily at Allison.

“That wasn't nice,” I growled, furious that she'd dared to attack me. Anger began to mingle with the hunger in my stomach. That kind of betrayal was enough to make anybody dangerous. Fuck knew what it was going to do to _me._

My skin tingled and my throat burned, fangs slipping into view and eyed turning red with blood. But before I could react, a loud shout echoed through the halls, distracting us both.

“ _Jules!_ ” Stiles voice yelled out, desperation soaking his call. And there was no competition. Revenge on Allison meant nothing in comparison to saving Stiles. So in an instant I'd disappeared from Allison's view, slipping back through the corridors of smoke and making my way to the place where Stiles' shout had come from.

“Stiles?” I shouted in a panic, reappearing beside him, frowning as I realised he crawled into the holding room from where I'd left him. He didn't reply verbally, instead using a shaky hand to point to where Matt stood, gun brandished at us. “Stay down,” I hissed to my favourite human, squeezing his arm reassuringly.

We weren't alone in the room – Scott's mom was here, watching on in terror and fear. But I didn't have time to worry about her, or to worry about exposure. There was just the threat to Stiles – and I wasn't going to let that happen.

Slowly and deliberately I slid to my feet, pulling back my lip to reveal glistening fangs, dark blood flooding to my eyes. I ignored the horrified gasp that came from Scott's mom, instead focusing on Matt, watching the boy's every move. There was another growl from beside me, and I felt more than saw Derek slip into the room, also transformed, eyes glowing alpha red.

I felt better knowing I had backup, even if it was my least favourite puppy. There was a familiar reptilian snarl from my right, and I reluctantly pulled my gaze from Matt. “God fucking dammit,” I grunted a split second before the kanima slammed into my side. Stiles called out in worry, but I didn't have a second to spare, instead focusing on slamming my knee into Jackson's scaly abdomen and trying to get my hands around his neck for leverage.

Derek joined me a moment later, growling threateningly as he shoved the lizard off of me, landing a fist to its angled cheek.

I took a split second to breathe before diving back into the fight. Derek had slammed it into a desk to the side, throwing punches and blocking scratches. It shoved the alpha off with embarrassing ease, leaping back to its feet. With a grunt I jumped on it, thighs wrapping around its head and using my momentum to throw it to the floor. It screeched in pain, but I barely had time to feel smug that I'd hurt it before its claws scraped desperately at my face, tearing the flesh.

It stung like a bitch, and I flew off its body, pressing a hand to my torn, bloody skin.

“Jules,” Stiles coughed, staring at me with wide, worried eyes. I held my face together with a hand, scowling when I remembered that I had the kanima's venom in my system, thus rendering my healing processes practically useless. I glanced at Stiles again. He looked positively green at the sight of the gashes on my cheek.

My eyes blurred as blood trickled over my knuckles. I growled, struggling to push myself to my feet. I couldn't help but give a lethargic blink, and when I opened my eyes, a transformed Scott was standing in the middle of the room, staring at his crying mother who watched on in horror.


	25. Blame It On the Rain

_You, got me caught in all this mess._

_I guess, we can blame it on the rain._

_My pain is knowing I can’t have you,_

_I can’t have you._

Blame It On The Rain – He Is We

LINEBREAK

Stiles wasn't coping.

I could see it in the way he stared into space, his heart always racing like he was in a state of constant terror. It was the third time in as many days that he'd come around to my house, preferring to spend the days in the aftermath of that night at the station with me (though fuck knew why _my_ presence seemed to help him). He'd even been skipping school, asking me to compel the missing days off his record once I'd healed enough to be seen in public.

I was drinking about five blood bags a day, trying to push my body to heal the gory gashes running from my temple to my chin. They were finally starting to close up, although every time Stiles looked at me I could see him struggling not to gag.

Most days passed without conversation, as I could tell Stiles really wasn't ready to talk about everything. He would perch on the ground next to my coffee table, scribbling away at the homework his teachers had been emailing him while I reclined on my couch, sipping blood and reading books, pausing only to change the record in the player.

It was exceptionally peaceful, if not a little disconcerting. I wasn't used to spending time with Stiles when we didn't talk. The kid always had something to say; a question to ask, a snarky comment to make. He had been even more quiet after it was revealed that Matt had died the same night everything had happened; he was drowned in a river. Ironic, really.

Now, on the fourth day after the 'incident', I sat beside Stiles at his lunch table, watching as he absentmindedly chewed on the disgusting looking mac and cheese that was being served in the questionable school cafeteria. I numbly rubbed a hand over the newly healed skin of my left cheek, annoyed by the fact that I no longer had an excuse to stay away from school.

I glanced to the far corner where Allison sat next to Lydia, frowning at the textbook in front of her, focusing on her work while the redhead stared into space in a similar manner to Stiles. Scott was nowhere to be found. In fact, I hadn't even spoken to him since that night, only spotting him briefly in the hall earlier that day.

I still didn't know why Stiles chose to spend time with me instead of his best friend. I wondered distantly if something had happened, but Stiles had insisted that they were just busy dealing with their own lives.

I looked at Stiles again, emerald eyes tracking over the constellations of moles on his familiar face. “I think you should see the guidance officer,” I said bluntly, and he paused his chewing, turning his head to the side to look at me.

“No thank you,” he responded, surprisingly politely.

“Well, you've barely said a word in days,” I argued softly, unthinkingly curling my fingers around his bicep, hoping the contact would help get through to him. “If you won't talk to _me_ , you need to at least talk to someone.”

“ _You're_ preaching to _me_ about emotional availability?” he asked sharply, putting down his plastic fork and turning slightly on the bench to frown directly at me. “I'm not even sure you _have_ emotions.”

My jaw clicked as I ground my teeth together. I wasn't sure why the accusation hurt so much. He was right, on a level. I didn't have emotions, not in the beautifully human way he did. I suppose that's what it came down to; my lack of _humanity_. It hadn't really been brought up in the few short months that we'd been friends. It was like there was an invisible line that neither of us wanted to cross, neither of us wanting to acknowledge how very _inhuman_ I was.

I knew the dig was a tactic meant to push me away, keep himself at a safe distance. I was all too familiar with the move – considering I'd practically invented it – and I wasn't about to let him pull it on me. “I'm worried about you,” I pressed on, refusing to let him win.

Something in his eyes softened as he looked at me, and I pursed my lips, leaning in closer and resting my chin on his shoulder. He didn't tense like most humans did upon contact with me, instead leaning closer as though he couldn't help it. If my heart could beat, I was sure it would break my chest.

“Please go see the guidance officer?” I tried again, voice soft and pleading as I met his whisky eyes. He sucked in a trembling breath and looked away.

“It's not like I can talk about anything with her,” he replied grouchily, narrowing his eyes at the spongey looking mac and cheese in front of him. “I can't exactly tell her about my _real_ problems.”

“It'll be better than nothing.”

He sighed tiredly, running a hand down his face. Finally, after a long minute of intense deliberation, he nodded, and I pulled back from his shoulder, smiling gently. “Okay,” he agreed. “But only if you see her too.”

I hesitated, my victory dampened. “Uh, no,” I said, grimacing at the thought.

“Why not?”

“Because I don't _need_ to talk to anyone about my problems. Scratch that, I don't even _have_ any problems to talk about,” I responded, picking up his lemonade and taking a sip.

“That's bullshit,” he countered, shooting me an unimpressed glare. “There's got to be _something_ that's bothering you.”

He wasn't wrong. It just wasn't what he thought.

Stiles thought he was in love with me. Or, at least, he'd said as much at Lydia's train wreck of a birthday party. Just the thought of it made me pull away from him, putting a foot of distance in between us both, ignoring his confused frown when I did so. “I'm not doing it unless you do it first,” he said, choosing not to comment on my move.

I wasn't happy, but if it meant Stiles got the help he needed, I was willing to compromise.

Which is exactly how I found myself perched in a chair opposite the pretty guidance councillor, glaring at her standoffishly as Stiles sat in the waiting area outside of the room.

She and I had been sitting in silence for a good five minutes. If I hadn't been so thoroughly annoyed, I might have been impressed by how unaffected she was by the glare I held, hot enough to melt diamond.

I wasn't going to be the one to break the stare, refusing to even blink as I sat stone-faced before her. A throat cleared from out in the hall, and with a frustrated grunt I broke our staring match, glancing out the window at Stiles, who was staring through the glass at me pointedly, noticing I had yet to talk. I thanked my lucky stars for his pathetic, human hearing, meaning he wouldn't be able to catch anything uttered within the room.

“So, Juliet,” Morrell began, her brown, doe-like eyes focused on my porcelain doll features. I wondered if my inhuman perfection made her uneasy. There was certainly no stutter in her heartbeat, a fact for which I was intensely bitter. “Why are you here if you don't have anything to say?”

I grit my teeth, almost deciding not to answer just to spite the haughty psychologist, however one glance at Stiles waiting patiently outside had me pausing, that irritating feeling of guilt clawing at my insides. “My friend needs someone to talk to,” I eventually said, fixing my cold stare back on the woman. “He'd only come to you if I did first.”

“Considering how much you appear to not want to be here, that must have been a difficult sacrifice to make,” she said, not unkindly, but certainly not with feeling, either. “You must care about him very much.”

“I do,” I answered quickly, then furrowed my brow at the unbridled honesty.

Ms Morrell seemed to take note of my conflicted expression. “Why don't you take pride in admitting that?” she asked in that light and airy tone, still staring. “It's not a bad thing.”

“ _I'm_ the bad thing.”

I silently cursed myself for speaking, but as I grimaced, I came to a realisation. I didn't have anyone to talk to about this; about what was growing between Stiles and I. I couldn't talk to Scott, because anything I said was sure to make it back to his best friend eventually. Allison was out of the question. Her mother had just died, and even if she hadn't, Allison seemed like the kind of girl who told her boyfriend everything. I had plenty of friends all around the globe, but very little I actually trusted or liked enough to talk to about such an awkward thing as a vampire having feelings for a _human._

I could always talk to Stefan, I supposed. I remembered his brother telling me recently that he was having a fling of his own with a human over in Mystic Falls. But I was much closer with the older sibling, and I knew Damon wouldn't like me going to his brother before him. I couldn't go straight to him either, because I knew he'd just laugh. He was my friend, but he was _such_ an asshole sometimes.

When it came down to it, the only person I _wanted_ to talk to about it was the very human himself, but that was out of the question. It would only make him – and myself – uncomfortable.

So maybe talking with the guidance councillor – even though I really _did_ detest psychologists – was my best bet. She was impartial, and having someone to bounce off might give me some insight into what was happening. The trick would be explaining it all without mentioning the supernatural.

“You don't think you're good enough for him?” she asked, bringing my attention back into the small, cramped, sage-smelling room.

“I _know_ I'm not good enough for him,” I replied tersely, glaring at her, daring her to disagree. Once again, she didn't seem the slightest bit intimidated. I kind of hated her for it.

“You don't think that's for him to decide?” she asked, her head tilted delicately to the side. I grimaced at the accusation hidden in the innocuous question.

“He doesn't have all the fact,” I bit out.

“Which are?”

“I'm dangerous.”

I may not have liked her, but some deep-seated instinct was telling me that I could trust her – at least with this small truth.

Thankfully, she didn't ask questions. “Doesn't he know that?”

“He knows,” I tried to explain, not quite sure it was going to cut it. “But he doesn't _believe_ it.”

She paused, dark eyes assessing me. “Maybe he sees something in you that you don't.”

“It doesn't matter,” I shrugged. She didn't say anything, staring as she waited for me to elaborate. “What if I hurt him?” I asked, eyebrows pulling together at the thought.

“Do you plan to?”

“No!” I hissed, blazing with anger at the mere suggestion.

“Juliet,” she began, leaning forwards in her seat. I inched back instinctually, glancing at the room's exits on the off chance I would need one. “Everyone gets hurt at some point or another. You'll probably hurt him, and he'll probably do something to hurt you. No matter how hard you both try not to, it'll happen eventually. It's human nature.”

I grit my teeth. _But I'm not human_ , I shouted at her in my head, scowl deepening.

“I have...enemies,” I said after a long, silent minute. I watched her closely. That wasn't something the average teenager said, but she didn't seem to be surprised by the admission. Her heartbeat was slow and steady. I decided not to elaborate, instead moving on to one of the many other issues I had. “He can't have a future with me,” I told her quietly, looking away from her searching eyes and focusing on a crack in the smooth wood of her desk. “It's impossible.”

“How so?”

I hesitated. How was I supposed to explain that one? “I can't give him what he needs,” I huffed, angered by the thought. He deserved someone he could grow old with, someone who could give him children. I couldn't stay in this town forever, people would notice I never aged, and they would ask questions I couldn't answer. What would we do when he was fifty and I was still in the body of a nineteen year old? “Our lives are heading in very different directions,” I said carefully, wording my explanation so I didn't give anything away. “I don't want to hold him back.”

“You know, most high school relationships only last as long as high school,” she told me softly. “That doesn't stop them from being with who they love, at least while they can.”

I was shaking my head before she'd even finished speaking. “I'm different.”

“How so?”

I paused, wincing as I realised I'd backed myself into a corner. “If I'm in it, I'm in it for the long haul,” she didn't need to know exactly how _long_ that would be. “I've had flings in the past,” I told her, thinking fondly of Damon and others I'd been with in my many years, purposefully not adding one very specific Original vampire to the list. “But, it'd be different with him,” I admitted, glancing out the glass, seeing Stiles toying with the string of his lacrosse stick, focused on his task. He seemed to sense I was looking and glanced up, meeting my eyes immediately. I couldn't find the strength to fake a smile, so I merely looked away again, focusing on Morrell once more. “He's not someone I can just…have my wicked way with and be done,” I swallowed thickly. “He's better than that.”

“Sounds to me like you really love him,” she said with a soft, open smile. I felt hot in the small room, odd since I couldn't physically react to temperature. I took a deep breath, glaring down at my chipped black nails. “You seem to be focusing on the future too much,” she said insightfully. She wasn't wrong. I knew I worried about the future instead of focusing on the present. But it was hard not to when you were facing eternity. “I suggest that you just live in the here and now. Life is short,” as she said this her lips twitched up in what I would almost call amusement, and I wondered what was funny about that statement to her. Nobody else in the room would be able see the humour in it but me. “Spend the time you can with the people you love. If it's meant to be, it will be.”

Deciding that I'd had enough of having my brain picked at, I slid to my feet, shouldering my satchel and nodding at her respectfully. She'd given me a lot to think on.

“Be gentle with him,” I told her softly, glancing out at a distracted Stiles. “He's been through a lot the last few months. And if he rambles about something seemingly unrelated, just go with it. It's his way of coping.”

She smiled, inclining her head. “I'll be very careful with your Stiles,” she said, and my traitorous stomach fluttered at her wording. “It was nice speaking with you Juliet. Please, feel free to come back any time. You're always welcome here.”

Before she could say anything else annoyingly kind, I slipped from the room, making my way towards where Stiles sat. “You can go in now,” I told him gently, and he looked up, blinking a few times before picking up his things and moving to his feet.

I moved towards the seat he'd just vacated, but his hand on my arm made me pause. “Could you maybe…?” he trailed off with a frown, not sure how to say what he was trying to.

“You don't want me overhearing,” I finished for him, forcing myself to smile at his guilty expression. “It's fine, Stiles,” I told him reassuringly. “I think I'm just going to skip the rest of the day.”

“I'll meet you at your house later tonight?” he asked, something like hope in his eyes. I cocked my head, gazing at him curiously. Familiar red blotches appeared on his cheeks. “I mean, if you want me to… I could bring the stuff for hotdogs? Bet you haven't had one of those in a really long time.”

“More like never,” I admitted, and a spark of life flashed in his eyes before disappearing into the void once more.

“Well that settles it,” he replied in what was meant to be a mischievous tone, but it fell flat.

“Go have your talk,” I prompted him, pushing his chest gently in the direction of the office, ignoring the way I felt Morrell's eyes on us. “I'll see you later.”

He turned, however reluctantly, and made his way into the small room, the door swinging shut after him.

With a sigh I forced myself to move away from the glass, honouring my word and not listening in as I made my way towards my locker, where I dumped all my books, pulling out my spare pack of cigarettes and searching in its depths for my old lighter.

Heels clicked on the floor of the empty hallway, but I took no notice until they suddenly came to a stop right beside me. I didn't acknowledge the newcomer, instead continuing to rifle through my things. After a long, tense minute I found my lighter underneath an old sweater, pulling it out and slipping it into my pocket.

“Yes?” I finally addressed the girl, sounding about as irritated as I felt.

“What's going on with all of you?” Lydia asked me. It was only about the third time we'd ever spoken to each other, and a small part of me was impressed that she had the guts to confront me in one of the school's deserted hallways. “I haven't seen Scott all week, this is the first time you and Stiles have shown your faces at school since last Friday, and Allison hasn't even eaten in days.”

I bit down on my tongue to keep from flashing my fangs in her face. “Gee, I don't know,” I muttered, utterly sarcastic. “Might have something to do with her mother dying?”

I didn't bother looking at her as I pulled out a cigarette, making my way down the hall and towards the doors. A sniffle from behind me stopped me in my tracks. Horror sat low and heavy in my gut as I slowly spun around to find Lydia glaring at the ground, stubbornly trying to keep the tears at bay.

“Oh,” I said lamely, staring at her uncomfortably. I thought over what I'd said – it hadn't even been that mean. I'd said way worse things to her in the past. “There there,” I added awkwardly, reaching forwards and patting her arm softly. The second our skin connected she jumped like I'd fucking shot her. Flinching back, a small whimper left her lips and she stared at me like I was death herself.

And she looked like she desperately wanted to scream.

“Bloody hell,” I mumbled, toying with the cigarette in my hands idly and staring at her like she was insane. “Um, I guess I'll just leave you to it.”

I felt like maybe I should have apologised, but I had no idea what for, so I just kept my mouth shut, strolling from the hall and out into the sun. Lighting up my cigarette, breathed in the chemicals, something I'd been aching to do since I'd stepped into that godforsaken guidance councillor's office.

Planning the rest of my day out, I tried to let my taut muscles relax. I'd go home, drink a gallon of blood and maybe indulge in a little Lolita. But before I could so much as get around the corner of the school building, I heard someone calling my name, and footsteps racing to meet me.

Turning on my heel, I raised a curious eyebrow at an exhausted-looking Scott.

He attempted a smile that fell flat, eyes lit up with concern. “I need a favour.”

LINERBREK

I knocked on the door to the McCall house, listening to the sounds of Scott's mom as she walked swiftly in from the kitchen. She pulled open the door, a tired smile on her face, only for it to melt away the moment she realised who was standing at her door.

Her pulse skyrocketed and she gasped, moving to slam the door on me. My hand shot out, grasping the wood and pushing, preventing her from shutting it. She looked like she was going to hyperventilate, which was the last thing I needed.

“Melissa,” I said calmly, watching as she desperately struggled to shut the door. “It's okay.”

“No!” she snapped back, tears welling in her kind but terrified eyes. “You-you're one of those _things_!”

“I'm not a werewolf,” I told her, staring at her patiently through the gap.

“But your face-”

“The species you're looking for is _vampire_.”

But apparently that wasn't the right thing to say. She gasped again, trying with renewed vigour to shut her door.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” I assured her gently. “I'm just here to talk.”

After a long few moments she paused, the fight seeming to drain out of her. She sighed, resting her head against the doorframe and shutting her eyes for a second before looking up at me sadly; defeated. “Do I have a choice?” she whispered.

She seemed like the sort of person who valued honesty. “No.”

She stepped back, allowing me to slip through the gap, letting the door click shut behind me. “I need a coffee to deal with this,” she muttered, turning and making her way into the kitchen.

I followed her, propping myself up on a seat at the counter as I watched her prepare her drink. I let the silence drag, letting the quiet coupled with her methodical movements help calm her.

“Why are you here?” she finally asked, unable to meet my eyes as she filled the kettle.

“Scott asked me to come.”

She nodded, and I politely pretended I couldn't see her trembling hands. “Have you killed people?” she asked bluntly.

My lips twitched upwards. “You don't want to start with small talk? Work our way up to the big ones?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood. She wasn't having any of it, staring back at me expectantly. I sighed, reluctant to answer, though I knew I had to. “Yes, I have,” I told her evenly.

Her hands shook even harder as she pulled out the coffee while the water boiled.

“Has Scott-has he…?” she struggled to find the words. Or maybe she'd found them, but was just too terrified to say them aloud.

“Scott's never taken a life,” I assured her. “To be honest, I don't think he could if he tried.”

Her lips twitched but the expression died as quickly as it appeared.

I didn't know if it was overstepping my bounds, but Scott had thought I would be the best person to explain everything to her – to explain why she had to keep it a secret. I figured I'd appeal to her heart first and foremost.

“He's still your son, you know?” I told her genuinely, listening as her pulse stuttered. She didn't respond, though I caught her eyes welling up again before she turned around. I sighed again, trying to find the words. I decided that if she wanted to cut to the chase, well, then I could do the same. “You can't tell anyone, Melissa.”

“Not Ms. McCall?” she asked, voice hoarse as she held back tears. “Or ma'am?”

“Considering how old I am, _you_ should be the one calling _me_ ma'am,” I told her with a playful smirk. She looked up at me and through the sheen of tears I could see curiosity. “I'm a little over 200,” I admitted, smirk widening as her breath got caught in her throat.

She was silent for a long time as she poured the water into her mug. I noticed she was making a second one, and for a moment I admired her kindness. She was making an extra drink for someone who'd forced their way into her home. I took the mug from her with nothing but a grateful smile.

“So, Scott's a…werewolf,” she began with difficulty, swallowing thickly. “You're a…” she coughed, “a _vampire._ And Stiles is…?”

“100% Human.”

She seemed relieved by my answer, shoulders sagging as she sipped her drink. “I know I can't tell anyone,” she whispered after a beat, eyes on the dark liquid in her mug. “They'd capture you; do experiments on you.”

“They'd have to catch us first,” I replied lightly, sipping at my own drink, pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed the taste.

We were quiet for a long time, her lost in her thoughts and me monitoring her reaction, making sure she wasn't going to have a panic attack or pass out, or something else ridiculously human. After awhile her eyes began to water again, and she sniffled sadly. There was one other thing Scott had asked me to do, or rather, off to her.

“I can make you forget.”

She looked up at me in surprise, silently asking me to elaborate.

“Vampires have an ability, I suppose you'd call it a form of mind control,” I explained, cold hands cupped around the warmth of the mug. As soon as the words left my mouth she panicked, looking up at me in alarm. “It's okay,” I assured her quietly. “That bracelet you're wearing? It's filled with vervain – it's an herb – it prevent my abilities from working on you.” My words seemed to calm her as she softly fingered the interwoven metal. “But if you want me too, I can make you forget everything you saw the other night. You won't know about any of this and things will go back to the way they were before.”

Melissa was silent, considering. “Did Scott ask you to do that?” she sniffled again.

“He asked me to give you the option.”

She seemed to consider it seriously, brow furrowed as she thought. “But Scott – he'll be alone,” she whispered, suddenly distraught at the idea.

“He has us,” I replied with an unusual amount of heart. She looked up in surprise. “Me, Stiles, Allison. He has us. And he won't be alone.”

She fell quiet again, swallowing three large mouthfuls of coffee like she were trying to find strength at the bottom of her mug. “Do _you_ think I should do it? That I should forget?”

It was a surprising question. She wanted _my_ opinion? It wasn't often someone wanted that. I didn't pretend to understand the inner workings of the human mind; it was pure madness. “No,” I told her honestly. She was surprised by my answer. “As long as you can be trusted to keep it a secret, there's no reason for you to lose the memories.”

“But Scott-”

“If you choose to forget, what's that telling him?” I asked her carefully, sipping my drink as I watched her contemplate the question I posed. “That you can't handle what or _who_ he really is? That you don't accept him?”

The despair in her eyes flickered, replaced by fire. “That's not true.”

“He's still exactly the same person,” I told her gently. “Just faster, stronger, more agile and confident. See, the bite doesn't change you, it just amplifies all the good things about you. And Scott does have a _lot_ of good things about him.”

She smiled softly, so apparently I'd said something right.

“Have you had to do it before?” she asked meekly. “Taken away somebody's memories because they couldn't handle it?”

“Oh yeah,” I nodded seriously. “All the time. There's no shame in it. Maybe you're just not ready.” I hesitated, wondering if I should go on. “You love your son very much. One day you _will_ be ready. But it's okay if that day isn't today.”

Again tears welled in her eyes, but she was strong, refusing to let them fall. She sniffled once more, pulling herself together. “I think I want to be ready now,” she told me with the kind of strength only a mother could ever have. I couldn't help but smile.

Deciding not to push it, I decided to direct the conversation to a slightly different path. “Well, now that that's decided, I'm sure you have a lot of questions. Consider me your 'supernatural handbook',” I told her in my most friendly voice, taking another sip of coffee, enjoying the heat in my mouth.

Melissa finally stopped trembling, and she smiled gently. I was left with the feeling that I was doing an okay job, for once. And maybe I hadn't said the wrong thing after all. Maybe I'd even _helped._

LINEBREAK

Stiles had offered to drive me to the game, but I'd had something to pick up in town, so I told him I'd meet him there.

I hadn't, however, factored an abduction into the equation.

When a van pulled in front of me while I was walking past an alley in town, I didn't think too much of it. Until three men dove out, all brandishing guns.

At first I thought they were probably just muggers – easy enough to handle, and perhaps it would even be fun.

But then one of them shot me.

I expected to feel a sting and nothing more. I was more than surprised when a deep, burning ache appeared in my stomach where the bullet had burrowed in. I glanced down without thinking about it, taking in the cold blood soaking through my grey shirt. My knees buckled under me but I caught myself, the vervain lacing the wooden bullet forcing my fangs from their hiding place in my gums. I snarled at the hunters, taking a threatening step forwards only to have another bullet hit me in the leg.

“What the hell?” I growled, trying to move towards them. But my knees buckled completely this time, sending me to the concrete. I grunted as they cracked against the hard cement. “We had a deal,” I spat, resting against the concrete, the vervain like fire in my veins.

Someone else jumped from the van, their footsteps quiet on the ground. My eyes trailed up to the familiar form of one of the very few people I'd thought I could call a friend. “The deal's off,” Allison told me darkly, knife in hand as she glared down at me like I disgusted her, like I was nothing but a leech. “Grandfather's orders.”

Even though I knew it dehumanised me, made me seem as much of an animal as I truly was, I curled my lip back and snarled at her. She didn't step back in fear as I'd hoped, merely nodding at one of the hunters who shot me once more. There was a searing burn in my skull, and I was lost.

I was in and out of consciousness after that, my body working over time to deal with the wooden, vervain-laced bullet in my brain. The hunters had clearly come prepared.

I knew I was in the van – I could feel the rumbling of the engine beneath me. I nearly smirked, stunned and slightly impressed they'd had the audacity to abduct me in broad daylight. I heard them muttering about wolves, something about Derek and his pack, but I was too focused on trying to heal myself to pay any proper attention.

It could have been hours or minutes later when we finally came to a stop. My hands were bound with vervain-soaked rope, and with the wood in my system I had trouble staying conscious. I vaguely heard a familiar voice invite me into the home we'd pulled up to, and I hoped I survived this whole thing just so I could come back and kill everyone who lived here while they slept.

It wasn't my first rodeo. I'd been kidnapped plenty of times – more often than not by hunters. Usually I was prepared. I'd gotten soft, so used to having friends and not having to be on my guard all the time that I got sloppy, allowing myself to be caught. Klaus would be disappointed in me.

Tied to a chair in some kind of basement, I snarled at the stony-faced hunter tying the knots, rope soaked in so much vervain that my skin sizzled where it touched.

His hand brushed against my chest deliberately as he pulled back, and I snarled at him again, lip curled back to revealed deadly fangs.

“Ooh, kitten has some fight in her after all,” purred the hunter coyly, only to jump back in fright when I snapped my jaws in warning. I was angry, angrier than I could remember being since I'd moved to this sad little town; since I'd met Stiles.

The thought of Stiles pushed me on. I had to get out of here, if only to make sure he was okay. I surged forwards again, this time quick enough to sink my fangs into the pathetic hunter's forearm. I was lucky enough to get just a small mouthful of intoxicating blood from the bite, a wave of power filling my very bones.

But it didn't last long at all. The hunter pulled a piece of wood from his pocket and, quick as a whip, thrust it into my gut.

I cried out in pain, eyes burning as I felt the crudely carved stake splinter inside of me. I tipped my head back, feeling the burn spread up my chest, my head still screaming in pain from the bullet lodged in my brain tissue.

“How do you like that, you little bitch?” the ugly hunter sneered around a laugh.

Gathering the blood that had pooled in my mouth, I spat it at him, grinning wickedly when he flinched back. “Wrong species, dumbass,” I hissed. I saw blind fury cloud his eyes.

He reached down and ruthlessly yanked the stake from my stomach. I screamed as it ripped from my body, only to sag in relief when it was gone. The hunter held it in his hand a moment, enjoying my pain, then positioned it over my dead heart.

I laughed, the sound chilling him down to his very bones, and my bloodied stare met his own. “Do it,” I purred, grinning a bloodstained grin.

“Joseph,” a baritone voice snapped from the edge of the stairs.

The unnamed hunter spun around, revealing Gerard standing there, a twisted smirk on his wrinkled face. Allison stood behind him, a large, ornate dagger in hand and an indifferent look on her doll-like face. Betrayal was hot in my dried veins, and I did nothing to mask the snarl of rage that rumbled up from my chest.

“We're not killing her yet, remember?” said Gerard, voice layered with false patience. “Put it back where it came from.”

With an indulgent grin, the hunter leaned down and slid the stake directly back into my gut, only a few inches to the left from where it had been previously. Fire burned in every cell of my being, but I wouldn't cry. I refused to give them the satisfaction.

Instead I channelled my pain into hunger, allowing a gleeful, ravenous grin to pull at my lips, exposing my bloodied, protruding fangs. I wouldn't let them see the damage; they had no idea how close they were to loosing a monster the likes of which they'd never before encountered.

My promise to Myra was a distant bell in the back of my head; all too easily smothered. I would tear these monkeys apart without breaking a sweat. And I'd revel in every second of their unending agony.

“Hello again, Ms. Adams,” Gerard greeted me almost pleasantly, dragging another chair closer and sitting down on it, the joints of his knees cracking with age.

It had been such a long time since anyone had called me by that name; by my _real_ name. I'd gotten so used to the many aliases I'd created over the years that I'd almost forgotten it was my own. I wondered how he knew it, as so very few did. But I decided it didn't matter what he thought he knew about me. It only mattered that I made him pay.

“I had a deal with the _other_ Argent,” I snarled, once again spitting out the blood that had pooled in my mouth, allowing me to speak more clearly, even though my fangs didn't seem to want to retreat. I'd gotten used to speaking around them over the years, and they flashed in the low lighting of this dim basement. “I've kept up my end of the bargain. Not a single human bitten.”

Gerard bristled like my words offended him. “I don't appreciate being lied to, Juliet,” he drawled. I hated the way he made my name sound. Like something disgusting.

Glowering up at him, I began mentally making a list of all the ways I was going to make him scream. Would I remove his organs alphabetically, or by order of least-to-most important? “What the fuck are you talking about?” I demanded, hardly in the mood for games.

He smiled like we were playing chess, and he'd just made the winning move. “The Stilinski boy,” he said. Although I'd already lost a lot of blood, what remained seemed to drain from my face, my unbeating heart dropping down into my stomach. “I have you biting him on tape.”

I remembered, of course. That night seemed so long ago, now, but the exhilarating taste I'd gotten of Stiles' blood that night at the school's pool would remain burned into my brain for eternity.

“It wasn't willingly!” I argued, leaning forwards only to be stopped by the ropes and a searing pain in my gut where the end of that crude stake protruded from my flesh, the skin and clothes around it stained with my crimson blood. “He put his wrist to my mouth while I was unconscious. He thought he was saving me.”

The old hunter coughed, pulling out a little pill case and swallowing a small handful of them like any common addict. “Nonetheless,” he continued like it hadn't happened. “You violated the terms of the agreement. We are no longer under any obligation to keep our side of the deal.”

“Real nice code of honour you've got going there,” I sneered, the pain of all the wood and vervain making my vision cloudy, but I stubbornly refused to let the agony show. “So, what? You abducted me?” I asked. “Why not just kill me now?”

He smiled like I were an amusing pet, and my skin itched with fury. I would tear that smile from his waxen face and use it as a pencil holder. He shakily stood to his feet as I watched on with cold, calculating eyes. He stepped aside to let Allison pass, and she slowly approached me, a dead look in her eyes.

“We may need you yet, Miss Adams,” Gerard told me like this were all some above-board business deal. Then he nodded at his granddaughter, my 'friend', who bent down like a good little soldier and without so much as a blink jabbed the business end of her dagger into my thigh.

Laced with vervain, I sealed my lips shut tight so the scream that followed was muffled. Allison didn't smile, but she didn't grimace, either. I wondered how fucked up she must have been to be able to dagger me without blinking an eye.

“Not gonna lie,” I growled, the agony of the liquified vervain spreading through my system like a virus, “that one stung.”

Allison didn't react. “Come on, darling,” said Gerard, voce like croaky sugar, patting his obedient granddaughter on the shoulder and herding her out of the room. “You have a wolf hunt to be getting to.”


	26. Irresistable

_Too many war wounds and not enough wars_

_Too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores_

_Too many sharks, not enough blood in the waves_

_You know I give my love a four letter name_

Irresistible – Fall Out Boy

* * *

Hours passed, but I lost count. There was just pain from the vervain and the need for blood gnawing at my insides like a hungry beast, begging to be fed.

At some point the lights were turned on and both Erica and Boyd were brought in. I could barely lift my head, let alone ask how they were doing. I'd stopped breathing long ago, punctured lungs too sore to move. But I didn't need to smell the blood to know it was there. I felt it like an extra sense, and the beast within my roared.

We passed the time in silence, no sound filling the small basement other than the wolves' slow, thudding heartbeats my small hisses of agony as I stubbornly struggled against the vervain ropes. I knew they wouldn't give – I was too weak – but I couldn't just sit here and do _nothing._

I stuck up within my own head, playing out fantasies of ripping spinal cords from throats and cracking bones so I could suck out the marrow within, when something _finally_ changed.

  
The door atop the stairs creaked open and somebody was tossed down them like a bag of garbage. I didn't particularly care, too out of it to bother looking up, but then I heard the timed beating of a familiar pulse. I'd know that heartbeat anywhere.

Looking up through the darkness with patchy, blurry vision, I met the stare of a panicked looking Stiles. Part of me was glad to see him, but the other part knew that him locked down here with me in this state was nothing but a recipe for disaster. He'd be lucky to walk out of here alive, hunters or not.

The human stumbled a little, running his hands along the walls until finally he found the light switch. There was a low click and then the room was filled with dim light.

A gasped ripped from his mouth like he were in pain. “ _Jules_ ,” Stiles breathed, completely ignoring the two bound wolves in the corner and tripping to my side.

I didn't have the energy to fake a smile, not even for him. I merely raised my head, staring at Stiles, unable to keep from hearing the wet thudding of his delicious heart. He knelt down in front of me, hands pressed to my blood-soaked legs. He stared up at me with watery eyes.

“Oh God,” he gagged as he spied the various bullet wounds, protruding stakes, and the dagger sticking out from my thigh like an ornament. “They shot you in the head?” he whispered, horror thick in his voice as he reached up to brush his fingertips over the hole in my skull. I remained still as I could possibly be. “I'm so glad you're a vampire,” he breathed, leaning forwards and pressing his forehead to mine, careful to avoid the bloody wound.

My chest fluttered. Those were definitely among the words I'd never expected to hear in my very long existence. I didn't dwell on it, however, opening my mouth to try and talk. My voice was hoarse and scratchy, and it made Stiles wince.

I made the mistake of inhaling deeply and blood flooded my eyes, inky black veins winding up my cheeks. Stiles didn't even flinch, simply staring at me, looking heartbreakingly lost. He wanted to help, but the only way he could possibly help was to run far, far away and never for a second look back.

“Get...away,” I rasped, every little movement I made sending searing agony flowing through me, vervain more potent than any human poison could ever hope to be. My fangs slid free and his eyes tracked the movement. There was no fear in his face. Why wasn't he running yet?

“What? No,” he argued, shaking his head and squeezing the part of my leg not soaked by my own blood. “I'm not going anywhere.” His breath fanned across my face and that all-consuming hunger reared its head in my gut. A feral growl began to rumble in my chest, and my body nearly vibrated with the force of it.

Stiles gulped, glancing down at one of the stakes in me. He nodded to himself like he were gathering courage, peeking up into my bloody eyes before reaching down with a grimace and wrapping his hand around the stake that nameless hunter had stabbed into my side. I opened my mouth to warn him, but somebody spoke first.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” that gratingly familiar voice spoke from the top of the stairs. Stiles froze, letting go of the stake and spinning around to face Gerard who strolled down the steps towards us like he had all the time in the world. Shifting so he was in front of me, Stiles took a protective stance. Like he'd be able to protect me.

But no. He needed to be protected _from_ me.

“What are you doing with them?” Stiles asked the old man bravely. I stopped breathing again, doing everything I could to ignore the beast growling in my gut.

_Feed me. Feed me. Feed me._

“At the moment I'm just keeping them comfortable,” said Gerard, almost lazy in his explanation, like they were talking about a tank full of sea monkeys and not the lives of living, breathing _people._ “There's no point in torturing them. They won't give Derek up. The instinct to protect their alpha is too strong,” he tutted as if this were simply a shame.

Stiles blanched. “Yeah? Well you don't seem to have a problem torturing Jules!” he hissed angrily, taking a step back, now standing so close to me I could feel the delicious heat radiating off his body. I shut my eyes tight, trying to thick about something, _anything_ else.

“ _That_ isn't torture,” Gerard told him coldly. “ _That_ is the only thing keeping her from killing every last person in this house.”

I wasn't sure Stiles understood what that meant – or even exactly how true it was – but he accepted it and powered on nonetheless. “Okay, so what are you doing with me? Because Scott can find me, alright? He knows my scent. It's pungent, you know? It's more like a stench. He could find me even if I was buried at the bottom of a sewer, covered in faecal matter and urine...”

“You have a knack for creating a vivid picture, Mr. Stilinski. Let me paint one of my own.” There was a smirk in Gerard's voice. He was so sure he'd already won. “Scott McCall finds his best friend bloodied and beaten to a pulp. How does that sound?”

If I wasn't already stiff as a log, I would have frozen at the hunter's thinly veiled threat.

“Look, what are you? Ninety? I could probably kick your ass up and down this room!” Stiles retorted, but he barely had time to blink before he got a face full of fist, sending him crashing to the floor. Blood poured from Stiles' nose, and whimper escaped my taut jaw and I surged forwards – whether to save Stiles or kill him, I couldn't be certain.

The vervain ropes tightened with my struggle, searing pain burning through the layers of skin at my wrists. The stakes imbedded in my flesh splintered even further, each one like a drop of acid beneath my skin.

“Okay, wait!” Stiles begged as Gerard knelt over him, but the old hunter refused to give. Rearing his fist back, he slammed it without mercy into Stiles' face. More blood spilt free and the monster within me roared. But I wouldn't listen.

“ _Stop_!” I managed to screech around my dry mouth and burning throat, even knowing it would do no good. Every blow Stiles received cut through me, hurting more than any stake or wooden bullet ever could. My eyes watered and I bit down on my tongue so hard that my mouth filled with blood. “I'll _kill_ you, you bastard!” I snarled, fury only igniting further when he didn't stop. “ _Stiles_!”

The sheer force of the rage I felt was enough to snap me out of my internal pity party. I was flooded with a wave of extra strength, the feeling nearly overtaking me, and I ripped my arms upwards, the rope holding them tearing like it were made of tissue paper.

The bone in my arm cracked, but the pain was nothing compared to the vervain in my system. However at the sound of the snap, Gerard swung around to stare at me in horrified shock that only lasted a split second before anger took its place.

He didn't have the time to defend himself, because in the next second I'd slammed him into the wall, my forearm braced over his throat, pressing down enough to choke him. His eyes bulged and even though his face went purple, he still had that indulgent smirk on his ugly face, as though everything was going exactly according to plan.

I would have bitten him happily, but the thought of digesting his blood made me feel physically ill. Besides, I preferred to watch him suffer as I killed him slowly. He'd thought he was winning this game; but I was about to show him exactly how wrong he'd been.

So consumed by my rage, I didn't even hear the footsteps hitting the stairs until I was being hit with a metal bat, its polished end smacking into one of the stakes still in my body like the most brutal kind of hammer. The stake lodged deeper within me, and the snarl that broke through was anything but human.

I didn't move, and Gerard laughed like a lunatic from where I had him pinned. “You could kill me, you know?” he rasped. “But know that if you do, Stiles dies.”

And I hated that he knew exactly what to say to get to me, exactly how to get beneath my skin. But he was right; I couldn't risk Stiles. Not for anything.

Already extremely weak, with wooden stakes still jutting out from my torso like some kind of fucked up game of operation, I was helpless but to let them beat me. Part of me was desperate to run, just to get the hell out of there, but I was too weak to carry Stiles with me and like _hell_ was I leaving him alone.

So it was with great reluctance that I let the furious hunters subdue me, securing me back into the chair I'd vacated as I stared at an unmoving Stiles in worry. Stiles was still, staring up at the ceiling, completely dazed.

The aged hunter pushed himself off the wall, absently rubbing a hand to his bruised throat. “You're psychopathic bastard, you know that?” I snarled, snapping my jaws at the hunter securing my wrists once more. He flinched away with a spineless yelp of fear.

Gerard just laughed. “Now, that's really the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn't you say?” he asked sweetly. I merely glared in response, but he didn't even bother to look at me.

Stiles groaned from where he was splayed on the floor, turning slowly onto his side as he held his broken face in pain.

“Stiles,” I said hoarsely, terror gripping my dead heart like a pair of icy claws.

Slowly, careful not to hurt himself more, Stiles looked up at me. His eyes were teary as they met mine. He was trying to communicate something without words, but it was lost on me, my mind a hurricane of pain and hunger and sharp disappointment in myself for letting it get this far.

Gerard hummed thoughtfully, beady eyes flickering between the human on the floor and myself. I didn't like the look in those eyes; too calculating, too knowing. “You're free to go, Mr Stilinski,” he finally said, nonchalance in his voice, as if he hadn't just beaten an innocent kid to a pulp.

There was a beat, our surprise obvious.

“What?” Stiles croaked, struggling to focus on the man standing over him.

G“I said, you're free to go.” Shakily, Stiles propped himself up onto his elbows. Gerard continued when he made no further move to leave, “I suggest you leave now, before I change my mind.”

But Stiles didn't move from the floor. “Not…” he coughed, blood trickling down his chin from the cut on his lip. “Not without Juliet,” he tried again.

But I couldn't even look at him, couldn't lay eyes on the thick, crimson blood spilling from his injuries. Even without breathing in I could smell it on the air, taste it on my tongue, hot and rich and almost impossible to resist. The monster within me was howling, begging me to break, pleading with me not to be so _human._

Gerard knew as well as I did that what Stiles wanted was impossible. He laughed, more of a low hacking sound, like a cat choking up a hairball. I felt Stiles' confused stare on my face.

“No,” I bit out between gritted teeth.

Despite having my humanity switched on, despite living amongst these humans, carving out a place for myself in this world – I'd never hated what I was. Why should I? I couldn't help my nature, it was the way it was. Nothing would change that.

But in that moment right there – Stiles gazing up at me sadly and me unable to look, knowing that if I did my tenuous control would snap and I'd kill him without hesitation – I hated what I was. I hated everything it meant. And I wished, just for a split second, that I was a regular girl, in love with a regular boy, and that the supernatural was nothing but a scary story told around a campfire at night.

“What?” Stiles finally asked again. When he spoke more blood leaked from his wounds. I could taste it on the air, rich and irresistible.

“Don't you see, Stiles? If I let her go now, she'll _kill_ you,” Gerard all but sang. When I opened my eyes, it was to glare at him with absolute loathing. I would kill him. I'd carve him down until he was nothing.

“Wh-what are you talking about?” Stiles stammered. His heart was racing so fast, like a hummingbird's wing within his chest. The adrenaline in his body was tangy in the air, just adding another layer to the hunger that was burning like a fire within me.

Gerard made a sound of disgust. “Do you really think whatever she feels for you is strong enough to overcome her innate bloodlust?” he asked, utterly condescending. Stiles' pulse stammered and I shut my eyes again, biting down on the inside of my mouth until it bled. “Don't fool yourself,” Gerard spat. “I'm throwing you a lifeline. Take it and _get out_.”

Stiles was trembling and I could feel the weight of his eyes, staring at me with sorrow. But I refused to look. “ _Go_ ,” I hissed at him, a traitorous tear escaping my shut eyes, rolling down my dirty face. I felt it drip off the curve of my jaw, and ground my teeth against the sensation.

“Jules…” Stiles whispered desperately, pain like a living thing within him.

Patience snapping, I wrenched open my eyes, curled back my lip to expose my fangs and whirled around on him with a feral, animalistic snarl. “ _Go_!” I roared.

With a racing pulse, a terrified Stiles scrambled to his feet. With great reluctance he disappeared up the single flight of stairs, only looking back at me once. I sagged with relief once he was gone, the near-irresistible temptation of his blood disappearing along with him.

Gerard turned to me, examining his bruised knuckles casually, much like a confident woman might assess her nails. “Now, I'm sure I didn't see the beginnings of a _mateship_ just now,” he drawled like it were mildly interesting, but of no real concern to him.

“He's human,” I spat. I'd always been repulsed by the way they called it _mating._ In reality, it was more of a name given to genuine vampire courtship; but hunters loved setting us apart from the rest of society. Loved making us seem more animal than human.

“You wouldn't be the first to fall to the temptation of man,” he sneered. I growled right back. Apparently I didn't seem like I was in enough pain, because he suddenly surged forwards, gripping the handle of the dagger his granddaughter had stabbed me with and yanking. It slid from my flesh like Arthur pulling Excalibur from the stone.

I roared at the slice of the steel blade, coated with so much vervain it reeked of it.

He leered like my agony were better than any drug he could try, waiting only a moment before slamming it back down into a new place on my thigh. I had better control of my reaction, managing to keep from crying out in pain. I gave a low hiss, but otherwise stayed silent.

“Now that you're properly subdued,” he began conversationally, crossing his arms and staring down at me with a polite smile – as if he hadn't just skewered me with a poison-soaked knife, “I have some information I think you might like to be made aware of.”

I laughed, a dry, unamused chuckle that seemed to throw him at least a little bit off-balance. “How _considerate_ of you,” I said sweetly, gripping the sides of the chair I was bound to so tightly that the wood began to crack and splinter.

Gerard smirked in that self-righteous way he always did, leaning forwards as though I wouldn't be able to hear him from a mile away. “He's close,” he told me silkily.

I only blinked uncaringly. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” I asked him simply, taking a painful breath in so I had enough air to speak with.

Gerard only grinned, like an imp might before offering you a dangerous riddle. It made me want to punch him so bad that the knuckles of my right hand began to ache. “We've been tracking his movements,” he continued lightly. “We don't know his exact location, but from what we can tell, he's somewhere in Western Nevada.”

“Not to rush you here, but what the fuck are you _talking_ about?” I demanded, tiring of his games.

He only needed to say one thing. One thing to make my throat swell with panic, one thing to make my heart fall down, down, down into my wounded stomach, the floor seeming to disappear from beneath me.

“Klaus.”

The sound of the name made me want to flinch, but I held back, instead keeping my stare clear, looking for all the world unaffected. “Klaus?” I asked like the name meant nothing. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”

Gerard's beady eyes were glowing with dark fire. “I think you know exactly who that is,” he said, words low and deliberate, promising pain if I kept playing dumb. “Isn't he something of a god to your kind? Being that he was the _first_?”

I smiled, the expression sweet enough to rot his teeth, although my teeth were stained with enough blood to negate that sweetness. “ _Oh_ ,” I said dramatically. “ _That_ Klaus.”

I met his stare, my own eyes playful and impish. He thought he knew what he was dealing with, but the truth was that he had no fucking idea. I leant forwards as if about to tell him a secret. He wasn't stupid enough to do the same, but it hardly bothered me.

“That's a fairytale,” I whispered deliberately.

Gerard laughed that same deadened laugh, but it cut off with a loud round of coughs. He opened his little pill box and tossed a few back. “I know your history,” he told me once the box was back in his coat pocket. “I know how close the two of you were at one point…”

I leant back in my chair as if I were there by choice, not tied down like some kind of injured mutt. “I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about,” I lied, the words dripping with false innocence. My English accent had made itself known, ringing clear and bright, mocking him.

His fist hit my cheek and blood pooled in my mouth. Grinning to myself, I spat it out onto the floor before glancing back up at him impishly.

But he didn't look angry – he looked just as unaffected as before, merely readjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “I wonder,” he began, almost lazy, like the words were an afterthought, “what might happen if your old lover were to discover the company you've been keeping.”

The word 'lover' was enough to make anybody cringe, but I refused to break. Gerard didn't seem to mind, he just kept on talking.

“Now werewolves – that's one thing. But mating with a human?” He tutted. “I've heard that the Original Vampire doesn't like people touching what's his.”

I was ashamed to say I broke. Snapping my jaws like a shark upon its prey, I threw myself forwards. He could threaten me all he liked. Bringing Klaus into the equation wasn't even enough to shake me. But using my past against _Stiles_? It was a step too far.

Gerard beamed, teeth crooked and dark, but I didn't care for his satisfaction. I just wanted him dead. “The second I'm out of this chair, I'm going to kill you,” I promised him darkly, meaning every single word. “I'm going to _enjoy_ watching you beg for your life as I _take_ it from you, drop by drop.”

And he had the audacity to look unafraid.

* * *

I had no idea how long I was unconscious, but it seemed like mere seconds later that someone had slapped me clear across the face.

My eyes snapped open and I instinctively hissed at whoever it was. But instead of Gerard or Allison or some other nameless hunter, I was met with the exhausted hazel eyes of Erica. She pressed a finger to her lips, telling me to stay quiet. I realised after a moment that my wrists were free of binding, however the stakes and bullets were all still in place.

“You have to pull them out,” I rasped, but she hesitated, expression twisted in disgust.

Boyd stepped up beside her, not even pausing before grasping the wood protruding from my stomach and ripping it from my flesh. I bit down on my tongue to silence my scream, then again when he repeated the action with the one in my side. He shot me an expectant look, and I spat out a reluctant thanks before standing unsteadily to my feet.

The bullets were still embedded in my gut, but I'd need time and a safe space in which to pull them out. At least the one in my head had eventually been pushed back out of its entry wound, ending up somewhere on the cold cement floor.

Sneaking up from the basement was surprisingly easy. I held a hand over the gaping wound in my stomach as I silently waved the two wolves through to the back door, the only signs of life being a group of people upstairs and a single beating heart in the lounge room. Their footsteps were quiet as they made their way to the door, pulling it open and darting out into the cool night air before anyone could stop them.

I hesitated.

Anger, bitter and burning like a flame, swirled in my gut in a way that was painfully familiar. It was joined by a bottomless hunger – and I knew I didn't owe these humans anything. Like they'd said; all bets were off.

I couldn't help myself, I had to turn back around and pad silently into the lounge where a man was reclined on the couch, staring at the television as he happily sipped on a beer. I bit back a growl as I thought about how this man, the _hunter_ , had dragged poison across my skin, watching with glee as it bubbled and burned. My fingers were aching to repay the favour.

I took a step closer. Although I wanted to drag it out, make it last and revel in his suffering, I had to be quick to get back to Stiles. As soon as my human's face crossed my mind, I froze.

It wasn't easy. Hell, it was torture not to get the chance to torture. I was angry for a moment, even at Stiles. What was a _tame_ vampire good for? Still, I remembered the way he looked at me when I told him all about Myra and the oath I took to be a better person. Killing this asshole now, although it would feel _very_ good at the time, would ultimately just make Stiles disappointed in me.

So I wouldn't kill anyone – except maybe Gerard, when I got the opportunity – but I'd never made any oaths about not _hurting_ humans.

“Wha-” the hunter spun around as I purposefully put my weight on a creaky floorboard. I grinned devilishly when he realised who I was and the scent of fear stabbed at my senses.

I wiggled my fingers at him with a grin, and then before he could blink my fist was smashing into his nose. He exclaimed loudly in pain, but thankfully the people upstairs were too busy arguing about something or other to hear. I smirked, stepping closer and jerking my knee up into his crotch.

He folded over, holding himself in pain. I leaned closer, curling my fingers around his ear and tugging him harshly towards me. His pulse beat against my skin, strong and so very alive. I could hear the blood pumping under the surface, rushing like the flow of a lively river.

I'd promised not to kill anyone, I reminded myself. I'd never promised not to have the occasional taste.

My fangs sank into his neck, slicing through skin and tissue like butter. His blood wasn't the best I'd ever had – it paled in comparison to Stiles' – but it was hot and rich on my tongue, and I could already feel my wounds beginning to slowly close up, the blood helping me heal.

I stayed there longer than I should have, and it wasn't until the man stopped struggling as much that I pulled away, pressing my lips to his ear to make sure his foggy senses heard my words.

“If you _ever_ touch me or my friends again, I'll rip off your scrotum, puree it in a blender and feed it to you in a bottle,” I told him, no hint of a lie. “And tell your pathetic little friends 'congratulations' from me, on managing to best me this once. But let me assure you,” I pulled back to stare him directly in his dull eyes. “It will _not_ happen again.”

I patted his cheek once more, smearing some of his own blood across his skin. I deeply enjoyed the terror in his eyes before I slammed my fist into his temple, this time with enough force to knock him out cold.

I followed the path the wolves had taken, startled to see them waiting for me just within the tree line. Given that I was still full of wooden bullets, they were able to move faster than me, and in an act of surprising kindness Boyd wrapped an arm around my waist, helping me to stay upright and move more swiftly through the trees.

It was quiet but we didn't stop for even a moment to breathe, pushing ourselves to go faster, get further and further away, desperate to find safety.

I thanked the two softly when we came to a familiar part of the woods and no other words were said as I limped away, beginning the arduous journey to my house. It backed onto the woods, but instead of remaining in the crushing silence of my house, I simply downed three blood bags before leaving once again, heading for Stiles' place.

Ordinarily it would take a minute, maybe less. Now, it took ten. I winced in pain as I held onto the trees for support. Finally I slipped out onto the end of the street the Stilinski's lived on. Thankfully it was dark, and I was able to make my way towards their house with little drama bar a particularly loud dog behind a thin wire fence. I had to hide behind a tree in Stiles' yard, watching with a frown as Lydia pulled out of their driveway, driving down the road with teary eyes.

I couldn't find it in me to care about why she was there, although it did make a sour feeling curdle in my gut. I ignored it, choosing instead to move to the front door. Cocking my head to the side, I heard the Sheriff in the lounge. There was no way I could sneak past him; not in my current condition.

With a frustrated grunt, I gripped onto the grooves on the wall below Stiles' window. Slowly I began to pull myself up, each movement more painful than the last. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I reached Stiles' window. I pulled it open without bothering to stop and knock.

Stiles was standing by his door, head angled towards the floor, seeming deep in thought. But he spun around at the noise I made by his window, heart stuttering loudly in his chest.

“Jules!” he exhaled in pure relief, rushing forwards to help me out of the window and onto his bed.

“I can't get the bullets out,” I told him, taking care not to breathe in his mouthwatering scent. I was so full of blood that I felt slushy, but the temptation would always be there, no matter how sated I was. “They're laced in vervain. You need to do it.”

He gulped, nervous. “You mean…reach into your flesh and fish out the bullets?”

“Yes,” I groaned, collapsing back onto his mattress, eyes nearly rolling back into my head at how comfortable it was compared to that Godforsaken basement. I cracked open my eyes to observe the hesitant and sickly expression on Stiles' face. I reached forwards with a wince, not hesitating to wrap my fingers around his. “Stiles,” I muttered. “You can do this.”

“I can do this,” he repeated for his own benefit.

He took a deep breath before moving his hand into the hole in my leg, starting with that one first. He grimaced in disgust as he dug around inside my flesh, fishing out the bullet with only minimal gagging.

“Wooden bullets, huh?” he asked me lightly, peering at it closely before setting it on his bedside table. “Creative.”

“Hunters have been using them for centuries,” I told him weakly, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to focus on the pain. “They're a real pain in the ass.”

“I need to, um,” he muttered awkwardly, hands hovering over my stomach.

“Just do it already,” I told him sternly, and his heart stuttered before he braced one hand on my abdomen, the other finding its way into the wound to dig it out. “It was lucky the vervain was strong enough to keep me from healing, otherwise you would have had to cut into me with a pocket knife to get it out.”

I spoke mostly to keep myself distracted, but Stiles apparently didn't appreciate my chosen topic of conversation. He turned an unattractive shade of green, adding to the colour already in his face. I searched for something else to say to keep things light.

“Cheer up. Ordinarily, I'd be thrilled to have your fingers inside me, but this isn't quite what I imagined.”

Stiles choked on air.

I watched him carefully as he turned from green to an impressive shade of fire engine red. He stuttered for a moment, unsure how to continue from there. Part of me – the part that wasn't in agony – enjoyed seeing him flustered. His fingers jabbed into my gut and I flinched, biting back a groan of pain. “Careful,” I hissed, nails digging into the palms of my hands as they curled into fists.

Stiles didn't speak after that, clearly preferring to work in silence as he managed his nausea and recovered from my comment. Finally the last bullet came out and we both breathed a sigh of relief.

The only bad thing about being bullet-free, was that my mind moved from pain to hunger in less than a second. My fangs made themselves known, and I slapped a hand over my lips, hiding them from view. Unfortunately there was no hiding the black veins crawling up my cheekbones.

I stopped breathing again, lessoning the dull ache in my throat by a small degree. “Oh,” he mumbled in realisation, taking an instinctual step back that hurt me more than it should have.

“Sorry,” I apologised from behind my hand. “I should go. Thanks, Stiles.”

I was nearly at the window when he spoke again, “Wait.” I froze, turning back around to stare at him expectantly. “You don't have to leave,” he told me hesitantly.

“Yeah, I really do.”

“No,” he shook his head. “You _don't._ ”

I stared at him, contemplating his words. He moved over to his chest of drawers, rifling through them until he pulled out a handful of clothes. He stepped closer to me, holding out the bundle in his hands. My brows pulled together and I cocked my head curiously.

“You should get out of those bloody clothes,” he told me gently, and though I still felt uncertain, I took the folded clothes, my hands running over the soft material of the sweats. We were silent for a moment, both observing the other, wondering where to go from there.

“Can I use your bathroom?” I asked, deciding that even though it probably wasn't the smartest decision, it was definitely the one I wanted to make.

“Of course,” he nodded, striding over to the open door and pointing to another door down at hall. I inclined my head in thanks, slipping past him and moving silently through the house.

I heard Stiles talking with his father a moment later, but I purposefully ignored their words, feeling too guilty to listen in. I peeled off my ruined clothes, hissing quietly in pain as I felt my slowly healing wounds tug. I found a dark coloured wash cloth, wetting it with warm water and running it over my skin, getting rid of the dried blood that was left behind. I breathed deeply, focusing on my task, focusing on not overhearing the men in the other room.

Stiles had given me an old pair of black sweat pants that were several sizes too large. I pulled the drawstrings tight, securing them on my hips. He'd also included a blue hoodie, one that was thick and soft and made me want to snuggle into it. I suppressed the embarrassing urge, merely pulling it over my bloodstained bra. I bundled my ruined clothes in my hands, taking a deep and steadying breath before slipping from the small bathroom and heading back to Stiles.

The Sheriff was just leaving his son's room as I entered and he started at the sight of me, staring down at me in surprise. “Sheriff,” I greeted him gently, bowing my head respectfully.

“Juliet?” he asked in surprise, glancing over his shoulder at Stiles with a raised eyebrow. “I didn't know you were here...”

“She just got here,” Stiles supplied tiredly. I shot him a look of concern. He seemed exhausted, but he still tried to shoot me a reassuring smile when our eyes met. He didn't pull it off, but I let him get away with it.

“Are you okay?” the sheriff asked me worriedly, eyeing the clothes I wore that obviously belonged to his son.

Scrambling for a lie, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “When I heard Stiles was home, I had to come see for myself.” It didn't explain the clothes I was wearing, but I figured I'd let him think what he would about that.

He sighed, but a smile still appeared on his face. “You're a good...friend,” he said as he glanced back at Stiles. His son groaned, running a hand down his face in embarrassment. The older man's lips twitched like he knew something Stiles didn't. “Well, I'll leave you two to it,” he said after a long pause. With a nod of his head he left the room, heading down the hallway and out of earshot.

It was quiet for a stretch as I contemplated how to fill the silence. I moved over to the small trash can by his desk, dropping down to deposit my ruined clothes in its depths. “I saw Lydia leave,” I finally spoke up, coyly toeing the hardwood floor.

“Oh,” he exhaled, his heart rate spiking.

“Did you get a chance to confess your undying love?” I asked, wanting to look up at him but finding I couldn't make myself meet his eyes. I suddenly felt so much younger than I really was; just a young girl standing in the bedroom of her first crush. It was humiliating…and also kind of wonderful.

Stiles laughed, but the sound was more nervous than anything else. “No, no,” he muttered, scratching at the back of his head awkwardly. “That's – uh – not so much a thing…anymore,” he finished lamely.

“What isn't?”

“My 'undying love' for Lydia,” he parroted. I spotted a small smirk on his lips, my eyes wandering over the soft rose colour before sliding up to meet his eyes. I couldn't help but feel pleased and smug when his heart stuttered as emerald green met golden honey.

“You've loved her since you knew what the word meant,” I argued, raising a skeptical eyebrow at the kid. “What happened? You woke up one day and realised you just _weren't that into her_?” I couldn't help the scathing and bitter way I spoke.

But Stiles didn't take offence, in fact, his small smile only seemed to grow in size.

“What can I say?” he shrugged, lowering his head bashfully. “I guess it just took me a while to figure out what I really want.”

“And that isn't Lydia Martin?”

“I think she and I will be great friends,” he said honestly.

“Nothing... _more_?”

“Nothing more.”

I hesitated, searching his eyes for any hint of deception. I was satisfied when I found none, but schooled my features so it didn't show on my face.

“Besides, who was I kidding? She's way out of my league anyway,” he continued with a forced carefree grin, trying to lighten the suddenly serious mood.

“That's not true,” I countered, lips pulling down at his self-deprecating tone.

“You're only saying that because you have some kind of weird vampire grudge against her,” he replied, succeeding in only deepening my frown.

When I really, _honestly_ thought about it, I had no choice but to admit my reasons for disliking the girl were petty, even for me. Sure, she acted shallow and vapid, but anyone with half a brain could see what a cover that was, a persona to make herself more likeable, as though nobody in this sorry town valued the intelligence she so clearly held in that sharp angled head of hers. No, what really soured her to me, was (loath as I was to admit it) Stiles' affection for her. I wasn't generally a very jealous person, but it was an unavoidable aspect of vampirism that I'd inherited when I died. Now that I knew Stiles wasn't as attached to her, I found little justification in hating her.

I could tell that Stiles still cared about her, and in a way he probably always would. She was his first love. Fuck knew, I'd always be tied to Klaus in one way or another.

I thought back to a day ago, when she'd looked so broken and lost at the school. “Maybe she's not so bad,” I shrugged, remembering the way her doe-eyes had welled with genuine tears.

Stiles looked like I'd just told him pigs could fly. “What?”

“I'm not saying I want to throw a ball in her honour,” I snapped, covering my moment of softness. “But…maybe I could cut her some slack, next time I see her.”

As I spoke, his hand dipped into his pocket and he pulled out his phone when it buzzed, peeking at the screen with a furrowed brow. “It's funny you say that,” he said carefully. “That might be sooner than you think.”

“Oh no,” I muttered, but it didn't matter. What was set in motion couldn't now be stopped.

Stiles held up his phone, allowing me to view the text across the small screen. “It's started.”

* * *

“Did I get him?!”

I held tight to the seat at Stiles' neck, bracing myself as I listened to the other two in the car breathe heavily. I sat up straighter, peering through the windshield at the kanima sprawled on the hard cement floor. I nodded once, although the pleased feelings evaporated as the lizard jumped to its feet, pouncing onto the hood of the the Jeep, snarling at us through the glass.

“Out,” I commanded Stiles, and I supposed by extension, Lydia. They dove from the car and I was quick on their heels, following Stiles to Scott's side. I paused once Stiles was safe, glancing back at where Lydia stood in front of a transformed Jackson, holding a key up with a terrified look on her pretty face.

I knew I couldn't intervene. We'd brought her for a reason, and I couldn't stop her now. It had to be done. I just hoped he wouldn't kill her; despite what Stiles said about no longer loving her, I knew it'd destroy him to lose her.

Unfortunately, before the little girl could finish working the magic of love, Derek and another wolf ran forwards, skewering the kanima through the gut with their claws. I was relieved at the turn of events, until I realised who the other werewolf was.

“Scott?” I hissed under my breath, eyes never leaving the scene before me. The teen wolf looked over at me with a frown. “Why the hell is a werewolf I know for a fact to be dead currently breathing?”

Scott shook his head. “Not now,” he said shortly.

Fair enough, I knew it wasn't a great time to be asking questions. However, considering Peter Hale was alive and well, happily murdering people – as per usual – I'd figured I would have gotten at least some kind of a 'heads up'. My eyes stayed locked on Peter even as they walked away from Jackson, leaving Lydia to run up to him and whisper declarations of love in his dying ear.

“Where's Gerard?” Allison asked tensely, eyes watering as she searched for the man who had used and manipulated her.

“He can't be far.”

Everyone's attention was suddenly on Lydia, who turned around, wiping her tears and sniffling sadly. Stiles stepped forwards as though it were instinct, and I ignored the pang I felt in my gut at the sight. Before he could get to her, however, there was a loud scraping noise, a soft gurgling sound coming from the dead boy's body.

My eyes finally left Peter as I heard Jackson's heart start up again. I looked on with mild curiosity as he sat up.

Looks like more than one person had come back from the dead that night.

He stood slowly and dramatically to his feet, tipping his head back and letting out a feral roar, eyes glowing a familiar regretful blue. My eyebrows raised as I watched, taking a second to unashamedly take a peek at his junk, briefly wondering what all the fuss was about.

Lydia dove into him, clutching at him like he was air and she was drowning.

I looked to Stiles curiously, watching in confusion and suspicion as his eyes watered. “You okay man?” Scott asked delicately.

“Yeah,” he muttered, sounding choked up. “I just scratched my cheek.”

The excuse was weak at best, and my eyes narrowed in displeasure at the way his heart stuttered, not liking that for once I wasn't the cause of it.

I turned to Derek, his uncle standing a few feet behind him, a bored expression already pasted across his features. He caught my eye, taking in my glare and breathing deeply.

Because he knew as well as I did – it was time to get some fucking answers.

* * *

_Myra laid in her bed at the hospice care ward in New York, her wrinkled hand wrapped around mine as she stared up at me with dull green eyes._

“ _You'll try and be better, won't you, dear?” she said in that croaky old voice of hers, eyes damp._

“ _Better than what, Myra?” I asked, squeezing her fingers lightly, frowning at the sound of her weak heart struggling to keep working, to keep her alive. Each pump was a struggle, a moment closer to the inevitable end._

“ _Better than you are now.” I didn't quite understand. I could only nod placatingly as I smiled and scooted a little bit closer. She always did know me so well, well enough to know when I was bullshitting her. “You've lived without humanity for so long, Aunt Jules,” she said sadly, staring up at me with that familiar, unending well of compassion. “It's time to stop hiding from your human side.”_

“ _This may come as a shock,” I began sarcastically, refusing to acknowledge her words on a deeper level. “But I'm_ not _human. Every bit of humanity left inside me shrivelled up and died a long, long time ago, sweetheart.”_

_My last living descendant weakly slapped me on the wrist, rolling her eyes then wincing when it hurt her head. “You and I both know that it's still there somewhere. It's time to step out of the shadows.”_

“ _Interesting analogy, considering the sunlight sets me on fire.”_

_She smiled, eyes drooping shut as she shakily struggled to breathe in. “Then, if you won't do it for yourself, will you do it as this old bird's dying wish?”_

_I scowled, but the expression held no severity. “Now that's just cold.”_

_She laughed, the sound more of a cough than anything else. “It's time for you to experience life beyond blood and lust and everything in between.”_

“ _What would you know?” I muttered darkly even as my thumb brushed against her dry, wrinkled skin. “You're just a crazy old lady, locked indoors for one too many years.”_

_She wasn't in the mood to take any of my shit, eyes cracking open again to fix me with a hard stare. For a split second I saw the resemblance between her and her great-great-great-great grandmother; my late sister. It made my stone cold heart ache for just a moment. “Promise me.”_

“ _Promise you what?”_

“ _Promise me you'll flick that famous humanity switch, and you'll give life a shot. There's more to life than cheap thrills. It's still in there, you know? Deep down inside, you still have the ability to love.”_

_I snorted, bringing her hand up to my lips, placing a cool kiss on her skin. “Whatever you say darling,” I rolled my eyes. “Whatever you say.”_

* * *

“So...Lydia and Jackson, huh?”

As always with my sudden appearances, Stiles jumped violently, swinging around to stare at me with a frustrated look on his face. “We _really_ need to get you a bell,” he muttered for what had to be the hundredth time, scowling at me for a moment before the expression broke, giving way to a smile.

“How do you feel?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, turning back to turn down the music that was playing from his computer; some kind of piano based song with a pretty melody.

“Now that Lydia and Jackson are king and queen again, and all is right in the world?” I elaborated, crossing one leg over the other, my palms pressed against the windowsill I was seated on.

He rolled his eyes, swinging back and forth on his swivel chair. “We've been through this Jules, I don't feel that way for Lydia anymore,” he replied slowly, like he was speaking to a child; which only aggravated me further.

“Twelve years of feelings don't just disappear overnight, Stiles,” I argued, brows pulling together as I watched his reaction closely. “And I saw how you were earlier tonight; you looked heartbroken.”

He exhaled sharply, glaring at me with as much strength as his little human body could muster. “Why do you even care?”

And how the hell was I supposed to respond to _that_?

I blinked at him, struggling to find an answer that wasn't creepy and/or completely inappropriate. My lips pressed together angrily when nothing came to mind.

“Well?” he prompted, pushing himself from his chair and taking a step closer. I glared at him darkly and he didn't come any further, knowing a warning when he saw it.

“I just think you could do better,” I finally muttered, the words holding a double meaning that I wasn't sure he'd ever understand.

“Yeah, because girls are just lining up to have a shot with me,” he said sardonically, voice raised with frustration. I tilted my head, listening for the sounds of his father somewhere in the house. When all I heard was silence, I realised I hadn't seen his cruiser out the front either, so I assumed he was at work.

“Well maybe they are and you just can't see it because you're blinded by how much you want Lydia!” I retorted, feeling less anger and more annoyance flare in my gut at his stubbornness.

“I don't want _Lydia_ , I want _you_!”

Silence.

Of course his words were met with silence, because what the _fuck_ was I supposed to say to that? To his credit, he did look properly horrified in the moments following his words. His whisky eyes widened like saucers and his pale pink lips parted as he stared at me in pure panic. I realised I was letting the surprise spread across my own face and quickly rectified that, schooling my features into a blank expression.

Stiles' heart pounded in his chest and his hands trembled. He swallowed loudly, jaw clicking in a way I couldn't help but find attractive.

I wanted to pull away, I wanted to tell him what a terrible idea that was, because I was the living dead and he was so _very, painfully_ human. Before I could force the words from my frozen lips, a thought came to my mind. Less of a thought and really more of a memory, one of my descendant laid in a bed, telling me to open myself up to my humanity; to open myself up to love.

But with a _human boy_?

I met his eyes and realised, that _yes_ with a human boy. _This_ human boy.

From the moment we met out in the woods, from the moment I breathed in his intoxicating scent, it could never have been anyone but him. We were brought together time after time, and while I wasn't sure I believed in fate, I couldn't ignore the evidence.

Besides, when he looked at me, I knew he was looking beyond the fangs to see the girl inside. And that just meant everything.

He stumbled back and crashed into his desk as I threw myself at him faster than he could see. He gasped at the contact, but the sound was muffled as I pressed my lips to his, my eyes shutting tightly as I wrapped my arms around his neck, gripping at the collar of his shirt and pulling him impossibly tighter to me.

Our lips moulded together, his soft and mine firm, and his arms wrapped themselves around my waist as an afterthought, palms pressing against my spine. I kissed him chastely but thoroughly, loving the way he moaned into my mouth. I smiled into the kiss, kissing him harder, my own hands moving to his neck where I dragged my fingers along his exposed skin, revelling in the way goosebumps broke out along his flesh and a shiver ran down his spine.

Finally, when I realised that he was human and therefore needed air to survive, I pulled back only an inch. He gasped for air, but not for a second unwrapping himself from around me. I folded my lips together to contain my grin, but it was pointless as he pressed his forehead against mine, his heavy, minty breaths fanning across my face.

“You still remember that I'm a _vampire_ , right?” I asked, opening my eyes to peak at him. His lids were still firmly shut, but a small smile appeared on those glorious lips. “As in: one of the undead?”

“Uh-huh,” he hummed blissfully, reaching forwards to peck at my lips once.

“And you're aware that no matter how I feel about you, on some level I'll always be lusting after your blood?”

“I know,” he mumbled, the smile on his lips only growing as he continued refusing to open his eyes, still basking in the moment.

I pulled back not a second later, not able to stop myself from talking. “And-and you know I'm new to the whole 'emotions' deal, yeah?” I muttered, squeezing the back of his neck gently, my nose brushing his. “I'm still figuring out…everything.”

“I'd like to help you with that, if you'll let me,” he told me in a move that was surprisingly smooth for someone so inherently clumsy.

“ _God_ ,” I grumbled, finally meeting his eyes as he peeked up at me. “Are we really going to do this?” He suddenly seemed nervous, unsure how to respond. His heart sped up in his chest and he stared at me in worry, stressed that maybe I'd changed my mind. I pressed my lips back onto his, kissing him slowly to reassure him. “Well,” I breathed, the kiss making me feel light. “I guess it's a good thing we have all summer to spend working on it.”

“Think it'll be a relaxing few months?”

“Look at it this way: I doubt anything could possibly go any more wrong than it already has.”

But by _fuck_ , was I wrong.


	27. State of Seduction

_Creating chaos just to prove we're alive_

_Demolition of a delicate kind_

_Midnight confessions keep on blurring the line_

_Say you're here on my side_

_Want you here on my side_

_You keep my heart under the cover of night_

_Could be the devil in a clever disguise_

_Temptation leads us, it's too late for goodbye_

State Of Seduction – Digital Daggers

* * *

I was woken from my slumber by the sound of a door slamming, and I grunted irritably, snuggling deeper into Stiles' covered chest.

“Stiles? Have you – _oh!_ ” the sheriff cut himself off in surprise. I peeked my eyes open, trying not to glare at Stiles' father for interrupting my bliss. Stiles woke up a tad more violently, shooting into a sitting position and staring at his dad with wide eyes. “I didn't know you had...company,” John said uncomfortably.

“Yeah, well I _do,_ so...?” he replied with bleary eyes, gesturing vaguely at the door.

“Right,” he nodded, avoiding my eyes. “Well breakfast is ready,” he told his son. “There's plenty for all of us.” He turned around, striding back through the doorway, calling over his shoulder, “and the door stays _open,_ Stiles!”

We were silent for a long moment, listening as to the sound of his father making his way down the stairs. Stiles turned to me, adorably nervous. I rolled my eyes at him and leaned in, gently brushing my lips over his before pulling back and smiling. “I should go,” I said regretfully, sliding out from under the covers and pushing myself to my feet, shoving my hands into the pockets of my borrowed hoodie.

“No!”

I turned back to Stiles in surprise, raising an eyebrow as the kid blushed.

“I mean – it'd be weirder if you left now. Just-just stay for breakfast,” he said, trying not to sound like he was begging.

I smiled again, glancing sheepishly at the floor when his heart stuttered before glancing back up. “If you wish it.”

“I wish it,” he said, a grin blooming his face. He stood, running a hand over his short hair and heading for the door. “Do you want to take a shower?” he asked innocently. I couldn't help but smirk at the implication. He flushed again, and I held my breath so I wouldn't catch his scent. “Not-not _with_ me,” he stammered, pulling at the neckline of his shirt as if it were smothering him.

“I'll be okay, thank you,” I responded gently, and he nodded, pulling a handful of clothes from his drawers before smiling once more and disappearing out into the hall.

Unsure what to do, I merely stood in the centre of his room for a long few minutes, unwilling to go face what was sure to be an awkward breakfast alone. I ignored the sound of Stiles fumbling in the shower, padding with bare feet over to his desk, smiling down at the pictures of his family and friends lining the back of it.

I reached into the jeans I hadn't taken off, pulling out a cigarette. I wasn't sure if smoking in the house was okay, but I couldn't leave to do it, and I sure as hell needed one to calm my nerves _and_ my cravings.

Sleeping next to Stiles, being immersed in his scent, it was maddening. I hadn't been lying when I'd told him I'd always lust for his blood. All I could do was hope it became easier with time. I took a seat at his desk chair, bare feet kicked up on the wooden desk as I lit the smoke, breathing in the chemicals, sighing happily as it took the edge off my hunger.

I'd almost finished it when Stiles came back into the room, dressed in jeans and a fresh flannel shirt. “Are you _smoking_?” he asked instantly, and I cringed sheepishly. “You really need to quit, you know,” he said like I hadn't heard it from him a billion times already. “If my dad catches you smoking in the house, you'll be dead.”

“Too late,” I chirped in good humour, and he rolled his eyes, plucking the cigarette from my fingers and tossing it into the waste basket beside his desk.

“Then _I'll_ be dead,” he tried again, and I slid to my feet, arms wrapping comfortably around his neck.

“Well we can't have that,” I mumbled coyly, leaning in so my lips brushed his ear. “If you died, who would I have to kiss?”

“Fair point,” he replied before pulling back only to slam his lips to mine. I sighed contently, leaning into him, struggling to take things slow but knowing it was what the human needed. He pulled back to breathe and I paused, brow furrowing as I caught a familiar scent.

“Something's burning...” I muttered with a frown.

“Probably my dad attempting to cook bacon,” he responded, tugging me back to meet his lips. I let him kiss me for one long moment before I heard the tell-tale crackling of fire coming from below us.

“Oh shit,” I hissed, jumping back and staring down at the flaming waste basket helplessly. Stiles yelped loudly, staring in horror as the flames grew. “Why would you throw a lit cigarette into a bin full of _paper_?” I asked him, turning to look at him with wide eyes, wondering if he was really as smart as I'd given him credit for.

“I wasn't thinking!” he shouted back, glancing between me and the fire in a panic. “I was distracted by your lips!”

“And that's an excuse to set the house on fire?”

“Okay, now you're just being over-dramatic-”

He was cut off as the smoke alarm above us began to shriek, and he slammed his hands over his ears. “Oh, great,” I sneered, gesturing to the wailing device. “Very smooth.”

Footsteps pounded up the stairs and a moment later Stiles' dad burst into the room, staring at the scene with wide, disbelieving eyes. When neither of us moved, he groaned, snatching an empty glass off the desk, rushing into the next room to fill it with water from the sink before darting back in and dousing the small waste basket with the liquid, instantly stopping the flames.

Stiles and I, neither having moved an inch, glanced at him sheepishly. He groaned again, running a hand down his face and staring at us with a glare. He opened his mouth, paused then shut it again. “You know what?” he finally said with an eerily calm expression. “I don't even want to know.”

“That's probably for the best,” Stiles agreed, and John sighed before turning around and leaving the room.

* * *

Two weeks into dating Stiles, I realised something.

I was laughing at something he'd said, laying back on his bed, my head tipped over the edge so I was staring at him upside-down as he rambled on about some stupid thing he'd done with Scott a few years back, sitting on the floor in front of me, a half-empty cup of Ramen in his lap.

I stopped giggling abruptly, staring at him in shock. “What?” he asked, frowning in concern.

“Nothing,” I assured him, a small smile blooming to life on my face. “I just realised that it's been a really long time since I've laughed this much.”

He grinned happily, and I copied the action, my grin only widening as he leaned forwards to capture my lips with his own. It was sloppy and uncoordinated since I was upside-down, but it was our own little brand of perfect.

* * *

**ONE MONTH LATER**

“Do you want chocolate or strawberry ice cream?” I called to Stiles in the other room, listening distractedly as he shuffled through the case of DVDs he'd brought over, trying to decide on one.

“Is that a trick question?” he yelled back, forgetting I'd be able to hear him even if he whispered. I smiled, rolling my eyes and scooping out a spoonful of each, tapping them into the waiting bowl.

I hadn't needed to be worried about what it would be like; being with Stiles came as easy as breathing. We'd slotted into each other's lives like we'd been there all along. He spent most of his days at my house where we'd spend time reading, or he'd try (unsuccessfully) to teach me how to cook. Some days he'd take me out, he'd get sick of Ramen or pizza and drive us to the local ice rink where he pigged out on hotdogs while watching me spin in circles on the ice. Sometimes we'd go to the cinema, he'd force me to eat the popcorn while I mumbled to him about the wonders of modern animation abilities.

I spent some time at his house too. He formally introduced me to his father as his girlfriend, which was about as sweet as it was awkward. The Sheriff had shook my hand and invited me in for dinner, which I accepted politely, finding that the gluten-and-fat-free pasta they were having wasn't as disgusting as it looked.

Together we spent a lot of time with Scott, either he'd come 'hang out' at my house, or we'd meet him somewhere, like at the lacrosse field where both boys were practicing every few days to keep their skills sharp. I'd sit on the sidelines, usually reading, and encouraging Stiles every time he got frustrated when he couldn't get a ball past Scott.

We'd been kissing a lot.

Stiles was, not only a teenager, but very much a human male. He was also very awkward and unable to verbally communicate his request for the next level of intimacy. So far I hadn't relented, keeping things very PG-13. There were lots of reasons for it, him being a virgin at the top of the list. He was inexperienced, and in comparison I felt like kind of a slut.

He deserved more than me, in every way possible. I didn't want someone so...tainted, to take anything from him. Mostly though, I didn't want to take the next step only for him to regret it.

There was a knock at my front door that I heard over the sound of the jazz playing from the lounge room, pulling me from my reflection. “Can you get that Stiles?” I asked him loudly, and I heard my boyfriend stumble into something on his way to the door.

I hummed along to the jazz as I scooped another bowl for myself, half paying attention to the conversation happening at the door.

“ _Uh, hi_?” Stiles asked whoever was there.

“ _Juliet Adams live here_?” a curt and painfully familiar voice asked, and my eyes widened as I dropped the ice cream scoop, rushing to the front door in a blur of colour.

The man standing in my doorway was as familiar and handsome as ever. Inky hair caught the light, making the black seem closer to blue. His eyes were the colour of the sky, deep and hypnotising even without the added benefit of compulsion.

“Damon Salvatore,” I drawled, appearing behind Stiles. My boyfriend nearly jumped out of his skin, while Damon just smirked, leaning in the doorway like this were a fucking photoshoot.

“What, no hug hello?” Damon asked, head tilted in a way I used to find adorable. Now I just felt indifferent.

“To what do I owe the _pleasure_?” I asked him snidely, lip curled back at the word.

“We need to talk,” my old friend – and flame – told me, eyes darting to a confused Stiles before landing back on me. “Alone.”

“Hey!” Stiles snapped defiantly. “Anything you have to say to Jules, you can say in front of me-”

“Stiles, go get started on that ice cream,” I ordered him without taking my eyes from the smug bastard in the doorway. I saw Stiles staring incredulously in my peripheral vision. “Please,” I added in a softer tone, and though he grumbled under his breath, he still did as I asked, heading reluctantly for the kitchen. I waited until he was out of the room before nodding to the porch, stepping out beside Damon, shutting the door behind me. “Why are you in town?” I demanded, hardly in the mood for pleasantries. “You haven't brought trouble with you, have you?”

“No,” he smirked, rolling his pretty blue eyes. “This time the trouble didn't follow me, _I_ followed _it._ ”

“Oh?”

His expression of amusement dropped as though it had never been there at all. He frowned, strong brow furrowing as he struggled with how to word what he was trying to tell me. And fuck if that didn't completely terrify me.

I raised my eyebrows, challenging him to speak up. I'd think by now we'd be old enough to know when not to beat around the bush. “Klaus,” he finally said, like it were a naughty word. And in many ways, it was. It wasn't a name that typically came up in the middle of the day, by anyone who didn't have a death wish.

I tensed, mouth suddenly full of cotton. I took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the irritating urge to kill something. That happened from time to time; an instinct born from the need to regain the control I felt I'd lost. “ _The_ Klaus?” I asked, even though it hardly needed clarifying.

“The rumours are true, then,” said Damon smugly. My fingers twitched with the urge to hit him. “You really were turned by an Original…” he drawled, almost giddy. “Well then, several people owe me good money.”

“How close?” I snapped. I wasn't in the mood to dip into my shadowed history, especially not with the likes of a _Salvatore._

“Very,” he said, crinkling his nose when I glared, letting him know he wouldn't be getting details today. “Just west of here, on the reserve.”

“Why?”

“He's tracking werewolves.”

I forced myself to keep breathing, though fear struck deep in my gut at the thought of Klaus getting his disgusting hands on Scott, or Isaac, or even Derek, who I was big enough to admit I didn't _completely_ hate. “Why?” I demanded again, eyes carefully trained on his face.

“Long story short?” he asked. I nodded curtly. “He's a vampire-werewolf hybrid and he's out looking for packs with my brother coerced along for the ride, trying to make others like him so he can build a little army of hybrids all for himself.”

I blinked once, then twice. “That…is a lot to take in.”

“There's someone after Scott?!” Stiles exclaimed in a panic, shoving open the front door he'd been unsuccessfully hiding behind and tripping out onto the porch, staring up at a taller Damon in horror.

“Who the hell is he, and why should I care?” Damon asked snidely, shooting my freckled boyfriend an irritated look, like he were something gross he'd found in his path. I didn't answer either of them.

“What the hell's going on?!” Stiles tried again, and I rubbed a hand down my face, already exhausted. Was it too much to ask for a quiet day in? “What's an Original, why's it after Scott and who the _hell_ is Klaus?”

I turned to face Stiles, unable to find myself annoyed with him when I saw the panic and concern in his eyes.

“This is not a conversation I'm having on the porch,” I finally huffed, herding both men into my house. They went with little argument – Damon scowling the whole way – eventually moving into my lounge room. Stiles took a seat on the couch while Damon meandered over to my fireplace, resting against it and surveying his surroundings with mild interest.

I watched as he looked over the books piled up on my mantle and the records I had stacked in the corner. It felt wrong to have him here, like he was seeing me naked. Which, technically, he already had, but times had very much changed since then.

I took the seat beside Stiles, wanting to be close to him now, folding my legs together on the seat and frowning as I tried to figure out where to start. Finally I decided to just dive into the truth. What else was I supposed to do? 'Gentle' wasn't in my nature.

“Klaus is the vampire who turned me 200 years ago,” I told them, and while Damon was hardly surprised, Stiles' eyes were wide as could be.

“The one who made you into a vampire?” he asked for clarification, coffee eyes full of shock and intrigue. It made my dead heart swell, the interest he took in my life. The fact he cared at all was something not far from a miracle.

“Yes,” I told him evenly.

“And he's _here_? In Beacon Hills?”

I glanced up at an indifferent Damon. “Apparently.”

“Okay,” said Stiles, but I could tell he was still confused. “Er, and what's a Hybrid?”

Damon sighed in annoyance, having little patience with humans – something that hadn't changed with age. I couldn't really fault him for it – until recently, I was much the same.

“You don't know what Hybrid means?” he asked Stiles scathingly.

My boyfriend bristled. “Of course I do,” he said, scowling at Damon in annoyance. “But how does that work? I thought someone could only be one or the other.”

Damon sighed like an underpaid teacher. “Alright kid, try and keep up,” he snapped, crossing his arms over his leather jacket and designer Zeppelin teeshirt. “There's an ancient Aztec curse called the Sun and Moon Curse-”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles nodded quickly. “The curse says that werewolves can only turn on a full moon and vampires are weakened by the sun,” he paused, glancing down at my heavy lapis lazuli ring before spying a similar one on Damon's hand. “Well, most are, anyway.” He suddenly had a thought, turning to look at me in bewilderment. “But…Scott and Derek can change whenever they want, so I guess that means it can't all be true, right?”

“Werewolves only turning on a full moon is a myth created because werewolves are _enslaved_ by the full moon; they have no choice on those nights,” I explained, trying to make it easy to understand.

“It's also helped along by the fact that a bite from a wolf on a full moon – and _only_ on a full moon – is lethal to vampires,” Damon added, and I glanced up at him in surprise.

“What?”

His bored expression turned smug in an instant. “Call the press. Do I know something the great Juliet Adams _doesn't_?”

I ignored him, turning back to a frowning Stiles. It was good to know; I'd been terrified of being bitten by one of the local wolves. Now that I knew I need only be worried on full moons, it was a load off.

“Wait, what's the Sun and Moon Curse got to do with this Klaus guy?” asked Stiles in confusion.

“Klaus is an Original,” I explained, trying not to pay attention to the sick feeling in my stomach as I spoke of him. Amongst our kind, it was almost like a forbidden topic. A name whispered in dark corners, under your breath, for fear of attracting the wrong sort of attention. “It means he was one of the first vampires in history.”

Stiles' mouth fell open. “How _old_ is he?”

“A thousand,” Damon supplied with a lazy shrug. “Give or take a few centuries.”

He swallowed loudly. “Oh.”

Damon ignored his reaction, turning to me with impishness in his eyes. “And while we're on the subject, how could you _not_ tell me you dated an Original? More than just an Original; _The_ Original?”

“If I went around telling everyone I'd been with _the_ Klaus, I'd have a reputation for being an attention seeking whore at best and a mentally unstable immortal at worst,” I snapped.

“Why wouldn't anyone believe you?” Stiles asked innocently from beside me. It reminded me how removed from my world he was. Reminded me that we were different species entirely.

“Because up until recently, he was a myth, a legend,” Damon told him with a curled lip. “A bedtime story you told children so they'd behave.”

Stiles went pale. “And he's your _ex_?!” he asked shrilly, turning to stare at me in disbelief. I inhaled deeply, resisting the urge to rub at my aching temples. I desperately needed a drink.

“I had a thing for bad boys,” I muttered, the words weak at best.

“I remember,” Damon smirked proudly, flinching smoothly out of the way when I hurled a nearby paperweight at his head. It hit the wall and shattered, making Stiles flinch. Guilt stabbed at my guts.

“It wasn't just a fling,” I tried to explain, locking eyes with Stiles, who I couldn't help but note looked strangely insecure. “Klaus was the vampire who turned me. I was…indebted to him. Connected, in a way. It's hard to explain…”

“Oh God, you don't have a _sire_ _bond_ to the guy, do you?” Damon asked around a grimace of disgust.

“No,” I said instantly, glowering at him for the mere suggestion. “I was just…I was young and… enamoured.”

“And this somehow ties in with the Sun and Moon Curse because…” Stiles trailed off, hoping we'd fill in the blanks. I was glad the topic of my personal involvement with Klaus was over with, looking up at Damon for an explanation.

He sighed, clearly when he'd decided to stop by, he hadn't thought he'd be giving a human a vampiric history lesson. “The curse is a fake,” he revealed, and Stiles eyes widened almost comically. “What the curse _really_ is, is a way of binding Klaus' werewolf side, preventing him from being a true hybrid or making others like him.”

“But you said he was here to create hybrids,” I interjected. “So that must mean-”

“He broke the curse a few weeks ago,” Damon admitted.

“But he'd need-”

“The doppelganger.”

“So when you said you had a Katherine look-alike, you really meant-”

“The doppelganger.”

“Right.” I paused, wondering how to continue. “At least tell me she's nothing like Katherine,” I begged him. Admittedly, I was surprised when his eyes lit up with a strange sort of life.

“She's _nothing_ like Katherine,” he told me passionately, then paused, considering his words for a moment. “Well, she's a _little_ like Katherine, but she's way more likeable, and not nearly as bitchy.”

I noticed the way he talked about her and rolled my eyes. “Really Damon,” I asked scathingly, “a human?”

“You're one to talk,” he snapped, eyeing Stiles with distaste. “I can smell him all over you. Really now, have you no standards?”

“At least I'm not in love with my brother's girlfriend who happens to be identical to the vampire that we both fell in love in love with and then subsequently got us killed back in 1864,” I mocked, my tone sharp and cutting.

He winced, “Well, yeah, it sounds bad when you say it like _that_.”

“Dude, your life is an episode of Days of Our Lives,” Stiles spoke up. Damon turned on him, sneering darkly.

“So why come at all, Damon?” I asked, preventing a fight from breaking out, one that Stiles would lose embarrassingly quickly. “You're here to save Stefan?”

“More like keep an _eye_ on Stefan,” he corrected, pulling a flask out of his jacket pocket and taking a generous swig.

“Aw, how sweet,” I mocked again, and he growled at me for it. Stiles stiffened at the animalistic sound, and I quickly changed the subject. “Listen, I happen to be quite… _fond_ of the local werewolf population,” I told Damon seriously. “What can I do to keep them out of harm's way?”

“Beats me,” Damon shrugged carelessly. “He's _your_ ex.”

“Whom I haven't seen in _150 years_.”

“Look, just tell them to keep out of the woods. With any luck he'll only pass through on his way up north. Heard word of an alpha pack a couple hundred miles up, and I'm sure that's way more enticing than a few Californian strays.”

I hesitated, unsure how to ask the question I needed to without sounding pathetic or scared. “And does he…does he know I'm here?”

Damon paused, baby blues narrowing as he considered my question. “I have no idea,” he finally told me, throwing back another mouthful of moonshine. “I'd stay inside until he's gone, though, unless you feel like having a reunion.”

“Noted. How will I know he's gone?”

“Because I will be too.”

I frowned, it took a moment for his words to sink in. “Damon, _no_ ,” I snapped.

“Come _on,_ Adams,” he whined like a child. “It'll be maybe a _week,_ tops.”

My lip curled back to flash my teeth. “Don't pretend you don't have the money for a hotel room, you self-righteous dick.”

“Really, you're going to kick your dear, old friend out on the streets, in weather like _this_ nonetheless?” he asked, gesturing to the window where the sun shone through from the cloudless sky. I grit my teeth to keep from snarling. “Either you let me stay willingly, or I'm going to annoy you until you don't have a choice. So, why don't you take the easier option and save us all the trouble?”

I took a deep, calming breath, forcing myself not to attack.

“Besides, your new boy toy and I can compare notes,” he grinned impishly. Stiles' usual red blotches appeared on his handsome face and he cleared his throat, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. Damon read the situation with the kind of keen discernment that made me want to hit him again. “Unless…no way,” he muttered, smirking like it was Christmas. “Really? _Juliet Adams_ hasn't sealed the deal yet? Are you kidding?”

Giving up the pretence of politeness, I stood from the couch and slammed my fist into Damon's gut. He doubled over with a cough, and with a dignified huff I spun on my heel, marching from the room and heading for the kitchen, intent on getting myself more ice cream.

“Dude, it's going to change your life,” Damon was telling Stiles without reservation. “Seriously, _vampire sex_? It's like nothing you can even imagine…”

I stopped listening, spooning the frozen treat harder than necessary as I grumbled angrily under my breath.

* * *

Living with Damon wasn't so bad. He was gone most of the time, inconspicuously trailing his brother. I kept my head low, staying at home with Stiles more often than not, not wanting to risk being seen by Klaus on the off chance he rolled into town. It was a few days after Damon's arrival when my boyfriend finally plucked up the courage to ask me what the deal was with Klaus.

“It's complicated,” I told him, and he grimaced at the word.

“Simplify it?”

I walked away from the radio I was trying to tune, making my way over to where he sat on my couch, his laptop propped in his lap. He pushed it away as I sat beside him, turning to give me his full attention.

“When I was eighteen – this was in 1826 – a family swept through my town in England. They were noble and wealthy, but there was little else we knew about them. They kept to themselves, until one night they had a ball. There were a few of them there, Elijah, Kol, Rebekah and, of course, Klaus. My father accompanied me to the event, hoping I'd catch the eye of one of the allusive family members. It was very strange for me not to have been married yet; my sister married at fifteen. So we drank wine that I hated and ate grapes that were too sour, all the while parading me round like a prized stallion. I danced with a fair few men that night. None left an impression, except _him._ ”

I paused, glancing at Stiles, who appeared to be hanging on my every word.

“He was handsome and powerful and witty, everything one hoped for in a suitor. Unfortunately, as I saw something attractive in him, he saw something attractive in me. See, I didn't know who he was at the time, nor did I know of the games he liked to play with the young women in the towns he swept through. And that's what it was to him; a game. He didn't court me like a regular boy, he just took me to the stables and ravished me.”

The blood looked caught between leaving and flooding his face, not sure how to react by my blunt statement.

“I was young and foolish and caught up in the excitement of it all. He would come by every few days, it wasn't until he turned me that I got my compelled memories back and learned he'd been drinking from me the whole time, feeding me his blood to heal the wounds and making me forget.”

Stiles swallowed loudly, probably trying not to think too hard about what I was telling him. I knew better than anyone that is wasn't the sort of thing you wanted to think too deeply about. And I didn't want him to think of me that way. “So, what? One day he just…changed you?” he asked me quietly, still enraptured by my story.

“One day he told me what he was, gave me a rather gruesome demonstration and then…he offered to change me.”

Stiles' eyes widened and he seemed to recoil away from me. I had to stop myself from flinching in response. “You _chose_ this?” he asked, the question coming out squeaky.

I pushed myself to my feet, interlocking my fingers in front of me and pacing the length of the room, torn between past and present. “He made it sound so…magical,” I confessed, trying not to appear as distraught as I felt. “He told me I would be better; that I'd be stronger, more confident, more beautiful than I could imagine. He told me of the wonderful existence I would gain, how it would solve all my problems.” I hesitated, glowering at the carpet. “He failed to mention what it would take.”

“So, you just agreed to let him turn you into a _vampire_?” Stiles demanded, like it were the most stupid thing he'd ever heard.

I winced, turning away, unable to stand the look in his coffee eyes. “I was in love. He convinced me that the only way we could be together was if I turned.”

Seeming to sense my hurt, Stiles hesitated. “Obviously it didn't work out…” he finally said, careful.

“Obviously,” I agreed, reluctant to continue. He didn't say anything, waiting for me to elaborate. I wasn't in the mood to relive it all, but some things couldn't be avoided. And I'd avoided this long enough as it was. “He turned me, and for awhile it was…euphoric. I was better in every way.”

“Except the part where you drank human blood to survive.”

“You have to understand, Stiles,” I said quietly, wringing my hands together anxiously. “To a newborn vampire, killing – it's our basic instinct. Its all we want: the hunt, the chase, the chance to feel the blood run down our throats as we take the life from a-” I cut myself off, hunger suddenly rearing its ugly head in my gut. I took a deep, calming breath to steady myself. “The bloodlust eventually dulls, fading until it's easier to control and you're not so completely blinded by it. I suppose it was what you'd call our 'honeymoon phase'.

“We tore through the continent, us and his family, creating chaos just to prove we were alive. I wanted nothing more than blood and Klaus, but I guess I just wasn't enough for him. It was hardly surprising, he was pushing 800 at the time. How could an eighteen year old girl hold his interest?” I frowned again, not enjoying retelling the sad little tale. “He wanted a polygamous relationship,” I told him, elaborating when he shot me a look of confusion. “He didn't want to be exclusive. I got over it, learned to love what little time I got with him. I faded into the background soon enough, I guess I just became a part of his… _entourage_. I stayed with he and his family – or, what little was left of it – for about fifty years.

“Eventually I left. Klaus didn't mind me leaving, he had other things on his mind, other toys to keep himself occupied. Elijah – Klaus' brother – had broken away at the point, he was living in South America and when I tracked him down and asked if I could stay with him, he said no.” I smiled ruefully at Stiles' confused frown. “I was confused too, but he explained that it was time for me to 'spread my wings'. He asked me what I'd always wanted to do but never got the chance – being so caught up in Klaus and all.

“The answer was, of course, education. I wanted to learn. I'd been all over the world, but I'd never bothered to learn any languages. So I went to school and studied linguistics, then when that ended I took up medicine, from there I tried my hand at music, did a bachelor of psychology, then art history…

“Klaus still found me from time to time, sweeping into town and having his wicked way with me, as if I could ever deny him anything.” Even as I said it I noticed the parallel between my words and how I felt in regards to Stiles, but I refused to compare the two in depth. “I continued to kill, of course. I was a master at covering my tracks. Every city I went to had a long list of serial killers, as most cities tend to do with a vampire in town. I met Damon while I was studying Literature at Yale, I decided not to tell him about who Klaus really was, spinning some lie about him being some guy in the vampire mafia and he was content to believe it.”

Stiles was quiet for a moment, digesting my words. “That's it?”

“The simplified, PG-13 version,” I told him honestly.

He ran a hand down his face. “You know, when you were talking, you slipped into your English accent,” he said, a small smile on his pale lips. Hope flickered like a newborn flame in my chest.

“Did I?”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded. “It was cute.”

I stared at him, recalling my study in human psychology and wondering if he was showing signs of any mental conditions that would be affecting his reaction. “Your vampire girlfriend just told you she chose to be a serial killer who was part of what these days pretty much equates to supernatural gang activity, and you're calling her _cute_?” I asked incredulously.

Stiles blinked. “Yeah, I guess I am,” he said with a dopey smile.

I sighed, pressing my fingers to my temples. “You're fucking crazy,” I murmured with only a hint of amusement.

“So, you're sure this Klaus guy won't just drop in, right?” he asked, a flicker of anxiety in his eyes.

“As far as I'm aware, he doesn't even know I'm here.”

There was a long silence that was only broken by Stiles' stomach making a loud grumbling sound.

“Come on,” I said, my lips curling up at his sheepish expression. “Let me watch you make something to eat.”

He grinned, standing and moving over to the kitchen. Before either of us could step into the room, the front door banged open loudly, making Stiles jump. I shifted in front of my boyfriend protectively, but I hadn't needed to, as a moment later Scott burst into the front room, breathing heavily as he stared at us in a panic.

Instantly I knew something was wrong, and I really wasn't going to like whatever it was.

“Scott?” Stiles asked worriedly.

“There's been an attack,” he told us with wide eyes. “Some kids got mauled down by the river.”

“Mauled? By what? An animal?”

“No,” he shook his head, the look in his eyes grim. “By a werewolf.”


	28. Vicious Love

_We’ve got a vicious love_

_We mix our tears with blood_

_No clock will stop for us_

_It ticks by_

_We fight as hard as we love_

_We’ve got a vicious love_

Vicious Love – New Found Glory

* * *

If you'd asked me how I'd wanted to spend my Saturday night, I would have said 'reading in front of the fire with Stiles' or 'watching the comedy channel with Stiles'. What was I doing instead?

Hunting _bloody_ werewolves.

I was ankle-deep in mud, the ground gluggy after the recent rains, pushing my way through a forest of sludge, looking for any sign of the pack that had wandered into town. Scott, Derek, Isaac and I had split up (which I, for the record, thought was a terrible idea). It was only meant to be a reconnaissance mission, getting intel on the pack's whereabouts and reporting back to the group so we could form a plan.

Scott wanted to talk to them, ask them to leave town peacefully. Derek and I wanted to kill them.

Our plan had been vetoed pretty much instantly.

“Wade through a swamp at dusk before the full moon, they said,” I muttered to myself bitterly, leaning my weight on a tree to avoid a dangerous looking sinkhole. “It won't be so bad, they said.” I stepped over the carcass of a decaying animal, already planning my revenge.

I glanced up at the sky, checking that the moon hadn't risen yet. According to my watch I had thirty more minutes before it would be high enough in the sky to trigger the shift, signalling the end of my shift. I cracked my knuckles, my narrowed eyes scanning the trees, looking for any hint of a wolf. I was so focused on my task that when my phone rang it made me jump. I bit my tongue, swearing loudly and fishing the device from my pocket.

“What?”

“ _No sign of the pack in my zone_ ,” Derek's hard voice replied, caring little for my sour attitude.

“Thought I caught a whiff of wet dog a few miles back, but I couldn't track it through all the mud,” I replied tightly, scowling deeply even though he couldn't see it.

“ _Your sense of smell is no match for mine, I'll come down to your zone; try and track it_.”

“Anything you can do, I can do better,” I bit back childishly.

“ _Sure._ ”

“You know what Derek?” I asked, clutching my phone so tightly I heard its plastic casing creak under the pressure. “You can go suck a fuck.”

“ _How exactly am I meant to_ -”

“Shut up.”

He cut himself off abruptly, albeit begrudgingly. “ _What_?” he asked after a long minute of silence. I didn't respond, all of my attention on the sound of footsteps coming from the shadows. “ _Juliet_?” My eyes narrowed at the source of the sound, and then glowing amber eyes were shining from the darkness.

“Meet me in my zone,” I told Derek under my breath. “And bring backup.”

I hung up, turning to face the werewolf, my hands held out placatingly. “You are vampire,” a stilted, accented voice stated from the darkness, and I looked to my right where another pair of eyes, these ones glowing blue, stared at me. “You are one of Klaus's?”

I frowned at the question. “No,” I told him honestly. He shifted his weight, slipping closer, allowing me to see the rest of him. He had dark skin, a scar running across his cheek and a sneer on his lips, wearing nothing but a dirty pair of jeans. “I'm a friend.”

The other wolf stepped out, dressed much the same as his pack mate. He opened his mouth and words flew out, none of which I understood. They seemed to be speaking some kind of African dialect, possibly Swahili. They argued for a long moment, growls punctuating sentences, faces half transformed with fangs protruding from their thick lips.

“Are you running from Klaus?” I asked tightly, and their dark gazes snapped to me.

The blue-eyed one looked like the last thing he wanted to do was answer, but Amber-Eyes spoke up before he could stop him. “Are _you_?”

“I was,” I admitted softly, staring into his eyes, silently communicating I was no threat. “For a long time I was. But not any more.”

I could tell he was curious, desperate for a way out of the life he lived. “How?”

“Time,” I answered him, and he looked like he was about to reply when a twig snapped from the darkness beyond them. I cringed, glaring through the shadows at Derek, who stepped into the moonlight and stared back at the newcomers stonily. “He'll get bored of chasing you eventually,” I told them, keeping my voice level.

“The Original does not let go of a grudge,” the foreign werewolf told me darkly.

He had a point. “Well, you're not wrong,” I allowed, crossing my arms over my chest, appearing relaxed but not for a second letting my guard down.

“What's an Original?” Derek asked from his place to the side, voice an irritated growl.

“Your worst nightmare,” Blue-Eyes snapped back, dark skin creasing around his lashes. The alpha shot me a confused look, and I shot him a sharp look back, silently telling him I would explain later.

Before he could reply, there was a piercing howl from deep in the woods, making my hair stand on end. My fangs slipped free out of instinct and the wolves growled in response. It was tense and silent, all of us unwilling to be the first to break. Finally I decided that – being the oldest – it was up to me to smooth things over. “You can't stay in town over the full moon,” I told them seriously, ignoring the way their eyes flashed indignantly. “The people in this town are under our protection,” I explained in a hard voice. “We will not put them at risk.”

“And what authority do you hold to tell us what we can and cannot do?”

My jaw clicked angrily. “I'm older,” I said childishly, resorting to petty tactics, foolishly hoping it would win the argument. Unfortunately they were too mature to sink down to my level, neither of them bothering to reply.

There was another howl that seemed to echo all around us. “We must go,” Amber-Eyes said shortly, glancing into the shadows behind him.

“You'll leave before tomorrow night?” Derek confirmed, but again, neither of them responded, merely sending us cool stares before turning around and sliding into the night, footsteps heavy on the wet earth. “We'll patrol again at dusk,” he said once they were out of earshot.

“But tomorrow's the full moon.”

“So?”

I huffed, but decided not to argue. I'd gone this many years without a werewolf bite, surely another traipse into danger couldn't hurt. “At dusk,” I agreed reluctantly.

Without another word I left, disappearing into the depths of the forest, an excited thrill shooting through me as I thought about my destination.

* * *

“You know,” I began conversationally, throwing one leg over the other and reclining back into Stiles' desk chair. His heart jumped in surprise, but he was getting slightly better at controlling his reaction, merely gasping in shock where he sat on his bed, poring over the documents in front of him. “I think the point of Summer vacation is that you get a _break_ from work, not to take the opportunity to do more.”

He grinned once he recovered, heart continuing to race as his eyes trailed from my leather pants, to his old sweater, to my windswept hair. “It's research,” he told me, clicking his pen over and over.

“On?” I asked curiously.

“The Originals.”

I didn't say anything, memories flashing behind my eyes like a film. Images of a blonde vampire, her blue dress wrapping around her like water as she laughed at a shallow joke; a dapper, dark-haired vampire, sneering as he sipped blood from a wine glass; a handsome vampire with a strong jaw and a heightened sense of honour, reading aloud from a heavy latin volume, eager to share his knowledge; a sandy haired hybrid, blue eyes glittering in the candle light, smirking up at me devilishly as his hands flew across parchment, the soft scratch of his pencil the only sound filling the room…

“And what did you find?” I finally asked, refusing to admit the way the memories affected me.

Stiles sighed. “Pretty much nothing,” he grumbled, clearly unhappy. “I found some old scans from a journal back in the nineteenth century, but none of them were very clear, and they didn't mention vampires by name, so I can't be sure if it's really him.”

“I'm not surprised,” I shrugged, swinging softly on his swivel chair. “Most of my kind barely believe they even exist. Not many believe the Original family is anything more than a legend.”

“What were they like?” he asked eagerly, abandoning his research and watching me, curious about my answer.

Although I'd given him the basic outline of my story, I'd scarcely given him detail. Even though I was reluctant to do so – for I wasn't in the mood to relive any of it – I felt like I owed it to him. I was…involved with him, in a way I hadn't been with anyone in a long time. He deserved to know the truth. And I found, despite it all, I _wanted_ to tell him.

“Kol was mischievous, funny and unwaveringly ruthless. He made for an exceptionally fun vampire.” I hesitated, but knew I'd gone too far to take a step back now. “A common trait in my kind is a love of torture, and Kol was no exception. We both lived off the chaos as much as we lived off the blood, we were friends, bonding over our mutual love of disarray.

“Rebekah was beautiful and sweet, but she could turn deadly in an instant should you cross her. She had a difficult time making friends, so when I was brought into her world, she was all too eager to show me the ropes. We fought like crazy, or I suppose 'bickered' is a more appropriate word. Still, we were close, but in the end I wasn't enough of a reason for her to stand up to her brother.

“Elijah was the academic one. We had a shared love of knowledge, and on the rare occasions when I wasn't in the mood to join the others tearing through towns like hurricanes, we would haul up in the local library, desperate to get our hands on new material and learn. He was kind but no less brutal, which worked well for me. I never felt like he judged me.”

I was silent for a minute, frowning at my dirty shoes as I collected my thoughts.

“And Klaus?” Stiles asked, unsure if I was going to continue.

“Klaus was – on the surface – charming and appealing, he seemed to do everything right. He was witty and smart, mysterious and powerful. He was everything a young and impressionable girl could want. He seemed to be faultless, at least, until he turned me. Things only seemed to worsen once I was one of them.

“Looking back I can see how controlling and manipulative he was, but at the time I was…in love, I suppose; blinded by what I felt for him.”

“What did you do with him?” Stiles asked, dangerously curious.

I smiled ruefully, the expression bitter. “Tortured, mostly. Caused pandemonium, turmoil – chaos in any way we could.” Stiles had a thoughtful frown on his freckled face, and I was terrified about what was happening inside of his head. I'd said too much. “You have to understand, I was young and I didn't know any different. I didn't know there was an alternative way to live this life. If I could go back and do it all over, I would, but-”

“I wouldn't.”

I paused, brows pulling together in confusion. “What?”

“I wouldn't change any of it,” he said slowly. I tilted my head curiously. “Everything that happened, it led you here,” he explained, red blotches appearing on his cheeks, his expression was sincere. “So, I wouldn't change any of it.”

I didn't reply for a long minute, observing him thoughtfully. “That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard you say,” I finally spoke, lips twitching up into a pleased smirk. He spluttered helplessly for a long moment, unsure where to go from there. He looked uncomfortable, so I threw him a bone. “Still, sweet has _nothing_ on sour,” I told him with a mischievous glint to my gaze. “So don't feel pressured to keep sprouting romantic bullshit in an attempt to impress me.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but something seemed to be stopping him. The last thing I wanted to do was push him, so I let it go, spinning gently on the chair, giving him space.

It was silent for a long time as Stiles stared down at the papers in his hands, mind elsewhere. I tipped my head back, closing my eyes and simply relaxing in my human's presence.

After a decent chunk of time had passed, Stiles let out a loud yawn. I opened my eyes, watching him closely before my gaze darted to the clock by his bed, brow furrowing as I took in the time. “It's 5am,” I stated with a frown, and Stiles nodded, sliding to his feet and beginning to slowly put away his research. “Why didn't you say something? You should have gone to bed ages ago.”

He shrugged, eyes on his work. “I wouldn't have slept anyway, not until I was sure you were okay,” he told me quietly as he shuffled the papers in his hands.

My lips curved up and by the time he'd turned to face me, I was inches away from his face, making him gasp under his breath. “You worry about me?” I asked coyly, raising a single eyebrow flirtatiously, taking pleasure in the way his heart stuttered. He didn't answer, clearing his throat, unable to tear his gaze from mine. “You know I'm a 200 year old vampire, right?” I said, head tilting up and leaning in, just enough that our lips brushed as I spoke. “I can take care of myself.”

“Like you did when Peter scratched you at the school? Or when you drowned in the pool with the kanima? Or the time when the Argents kidnapped and tortured you? How about when-”

“Okay,” I cut him off, narrowing my eyes up at him. “So I've been a little off my game since coming here,” I allowed reluctantly, reaching up to wind my arms around his neck, blinking innocently. “You're very distracting, you know?” I leaned closer but he didn't move to meet me, something holding him back. I sighed, inching closer and brushing our noses together. “Nothing bad is going to happen to me,” I assured him softly. “I've been around a long time. It'll take more than a few stray dogs to get rid of me.”

He still didn't look convinced. “Regardless, I'd feel better if you stayed inside tomorrow night,” he mumbled, a rare, serious expression on his features.

I rolled my eyes with a smirk, secretly pleased about how he was worried. “I've survived over 2000 full moons so far, one more won't kill me,” I reassured him, lightly stroking the sensitive skin at the back of his neck.

But the concerned frown seemed glued to his lips. “I just…I have a bad feeling about this one,” he said warily.

I didn't want to give in, it wasn't in my nature. But as I stared up into his honey brown eyes, I admitted to myself – for what was surely the hundredth time – that I couldn't deny him anything.

“I'll stay inside,” I vowed, curling my fingers gently around his neck, ignoring the way I could feel the blood pumping from beneath.

The tension seemed to evaporate from his body, and he sagged with something like relief, dipping his head until his brow pressed gently against mine. “Promise me you'll be okay?” he begged, and I was taken aback by how serious he was; by how vulnerable he suddenly seemed.

I couldn't help but say exactly what he wanted to hear. “I promise,” I assured him, honestly believing my own words. He nodded, yawning loudly before shifting forwards enough to plant a sloppy kiss on my lips. “I think it's bedtime,” I told him, pulling away and ignoring the way he chased after me.

He groaned unhappily, pouting down at me. “Five more minutes,” he said stubbornly. I laughed lightly, giving in and surging forwards, catching his lips with my own.

He smiled, pleased he'd won me over, fingers dragging down over the exposed skin of my arms then curling around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I sighed into the kiss, happy to be close with him, enjoying our time alone. It was like we were in our own little universe, the world around us dark and silent, only his bedside lamp filling the room with a muted glow.

He leaned into me, humming in satisfaction, changing the angle of the kiss, tongue flicking out to shyly brush against my lower lip. It was like an electric jolt, the otherwise useless cavity in my chest seeming to be both heavy and weightless in the same moment. My hands ran up past his ears, fingers clutching uselessly at his short hair. I broke away reluctantly, allowing him a moment to breathe.

“You should grow your hair,” I whispered amorously as I brushed my thumbs through his buzz cut, peeking my eyes open to stare at him, enjoying the way red flooded his cheeks. It was mesmerising.

“Yeah?” he asked breathlessly, eyelids shut like they were too heavy to lift. His heart was beating up a storm in his chest, and I felt proud that I evoked such an intense reaction within him.

“Oh yes,” I confirmed lightly, ducking forwards to playfully nip at the seam of his lips. “I love to have something to tug on.”

He swallowed loudly, finally sliding open his eyes to peer down at me, looking surprisingly confident. “Noted.”

I wasn't sure who moved, but in the next second our mouths were moulded together, tongues impatient and eager. His hands clutched at my back, fingers dragging across the fabric of my shirt, dying to feel my cool flesh. I kissed him deeper, encouraging him to go further, to push the limits we'd set. His hands were shaking but he was braver than usual, palms finally slipping under the soft material of my shirt. He moaned deliciously, his fingers running over my back.

I smiled with pleasure, humming quietly myself and pressing impossibly closer, fingernails dragging across the skin I could reach with only a sliver of my potential strength, careful not to rip the smooth, warm, freckled flesh that I loved so very much.

Our tongues tangled together and he pressed into me, moaning loudly when I copied the action, impishly hooking one knee over his hip and rolling my hips into his. He pulled away for a moment, reluctantly desperate for air. Thankful for my lack of need to breathe, I continued down the column of his throat, unwilling to pull my lips from his searing skin for even a moment.

His breathing was shallow and his skin hot to the touch. I lavished attention to his neck, simultaneously inhaling his irresistible scent.

I didn't realise what a mistake I'd made until the achingly familiar taste of fresh blood hit my tongue, the liquid pooling in my mouth, making my entire body hum with energy. I ripped away from my human, hand slapping over my mouth in horror as I stared at the cut my fangs had made in his otherwise perfect skin, a drop of blood rolling down to his collarbone tantalisingly.

My eyes began to burn and I felt the intense need to throw up. I swallowed the urge, the once glorious blood suddenly like acid as it slid down my throat. “I'm sorry,” I managed to croak, never having hated myself as intensely as I did right then.

It wasn't my first time getting physically close to a human, every vampire tried it at one point or another. It _was_ , however, the first time I'd been intimate with one without the intention of drinking from them. That was the last thing I wanted when it came to Stiles. I wasn't used to resisting the urge; it was entirely new, and apparently I wasn't very good at it.

Stiles still looked flushed, his shirt was askew and his lips were gratifyingly swollen, eyes glazed over like he wasn't even still in the room with me.

“What?” he asked after a long pause as I continued to stare at him, full to the brim with self-loathing. “ _Sorry_?”

I shot him an incredulous look, glancing pointedly at his bleeding neck. With a frown he lifted his hand, fingers gently brushing the broken skin, surprised when he looked down and saw the blood smeared on his pale skin.

“Oh,” he breathed, and I wondered how he possibly couldn't have felt me _biting_ him. Realisation slowly flooded his face, and he shot me a nearly apologetic expression. He was too smart to try actually apologising or anything so stupid, instead looking at me with sympathy. “It's alright, Jules,” he told me, overflowing with sincerity.

Now that he knew the cut was there, the ache that no doubt came with it caught his attention, and he pressed his fingers to the wound, wincing slightly. Overwrought with guilt, an idea floated into my head, one I had, until now, violently pretended didn't exist.

Blood sharing.

I'd considered it, of course, but up until then I hadn't felt it was an option. The urge to do it was as much a part of me as my fangs were, but Stiles was human, and I'd assumed the idea was disgusting as it no doubt sounded.

But I stared at Stiles, watching him watch me, eyes filled with worry not for himself, but for me. I melted, my eyes still watering in a way I would forever deny. I stepped closer, relieved when he didn't flinch away. My hand drifted up to softly brush the nick on his neck. I wanted to apologise again, but I knew he wouldn't be pleased, so I held my tongue.

“I can heal it,” I said before I'd made any conscious decision to speak.

His eyes widened and his heart sped up, but there was no fear or disgust in his gaze. I would almost describe his expression as…excited. We'd talked at length about my abilities; for someone who was barely scraping by at school, he sure did have a thirst for knowledge. He knew my blood healed human wounds, he didn't, however, know what a sacred and humungous step it was for a vampire to take.

Sharing blood? I might as well have asked him to be my mate.

It was dangerous; what if something happened to him while my blood was in his system? I couldn't deny the pleasure that curled in my gut at the thought of turning him, but I knew it would have to be completely consensual, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if it happened without his permission.

I wondered if that made me a terrible excuse for a person, caring about someone so much I was considering _killing_ them; damning their soul for all eternity. And the thought of it _excited_ me.

He barely seemed to think about my offer, pausing only a split second before nodding in a way I would almost say was eager. My stomach fluttered as my emerald eyes blinked up at his honey brown, his skin still flushed and his heart thudding in nervous anticipation. Without breaking eye contact my arm rose to my mouth, my fangs slipping free as I unflinchingly bit into the delicate skin at my wrist, my own unappetising blood pooled in my mouth and I pulled it away, holding it out to Stiles, who appeared jittery but also eager.

There was also the unmistakable glint of lust in his enchanting gaze, which did things to me that not even Klaus and Damon combined could achieve. In a movement that was entirely too sexy for his own good, he sealed his lips around my bleeding wound, keeping eye contact with me the whole time.

My breath literally caught in my throat as his tongue flicked out and swiped at the puncture wound, hesitating only a moment before he began sucking. The blood surged from my veins in a feeling I could only describe as pure pleasure. I bit my lip, desperately trying to contain an embarrassing moan. Stiles' eyes slid shut and he hummed in bliss.

After a moment longer than appropriate I finally (and reluctantly) pulled my wrist away from his lips, the wound instantly closing, leaving healed, unblemished skin behind. A euphoric sigh escaped my lips, feeling content in a way I only usually did when I drank from the source. It was a different kind of satisfaction, one that settled in my soul rather than my body.

“Are you okay?” I asked gently, because as always, Stiles was my priority.

His eyes cracked open a fraction and he peered up at me blearily. “Yeah,” he nodded, then stopped and grimaced like the motion made him dizzy. “I'm better than okay.” He was quiet for a moment, and I shuffled closer, barely able to stand the inches between us.

“Come on,” I said quietly, reaching over to thread our fingers together. “Sleep time.”

He let me lead him over to the bed. He sat down robotically, still dazed. I kicked my shoes off, turning off the lamp beside the bed before slipping under the covers with him, curling around him like a barnacle, uncaring how it may have looked.

“Is-is that…special?” he asked after a beat, blinking at me sleepily through the dark.

“What?” I whispered back innocently, hoping he'd get sidetracked and not push any further.

“Blood sharing?” he clarified, and even though he couldn't see me, I still buried my face in his collarbones, running my lips over his soft skin, breathing him in. “I read that it was kind of a…personal thing to do.”

I didn't want to tell him the truth, but I also knew lying wasn't an option.

“It is,” I confirmed, idly tracing a pentagram onto his shoulder.

He was quiet, breathing steadily as he processed my words. “Why'd you do it then?” he asked, thick with confusion. “With me, of all people?”

I smiled at how adorably confused he was. “It must mean I kinda like you,” I shrugged with a coy smile, making sure he could feel the movement.

“Really?” he asked, a smile in his voice. I rolled my eyes, as though kissing him senseless mere minutes ago wasn't proof enough.

“Well, at the very least, I tolerate you,” I told him, recalling a time I'd said the exact same thing, only it had been filled with far less meaning. All those months ago it had been a begrudging admission; now, it felt like a confession of epic proportions.

“…I tolerate you too,” he murmured, drowsy.

I grinned, pressing another kiss to his neck before pulling back, throwing an arm over him and burrowing into his side, sighing happily as he nuzzled my hair, not-so-subtly inhaling my scent.

It should have frightened me, how drastically my life had changed over only a short amount of months. It should have horrified me that I'd become domesticated, reduced to something as tame as a common house cat. It should have terrified me that I'd fallen completely and inescapably in love with this human boy.

It _should_ have scared me to pieces.

But it didn't.


	29. Fire

_Don't blame your death_

_On the shit in your head that you claimed_

_ate you like a virus for days on end._

_I watched you decay,_

_Watched you waste away._

_Who'd you think you'd fool, baby,_

_digging your own grave?_

Fire – PVRIS

* * *

“He should have called back by now.”

“Maybe he's at work.”

“He doesn't work on Wednesdays.”

“Then maybe there was an emergency with his mom.”

“At the same time that he just so _happens_ to be running around in the woods, tracking a pack of rogue _werewolves,_ on the night of _a full moon_?!”

I sighed, slamming my book shut with a loud _snap_. Clearly I wasn't going to get any further down the page until the issue was resolved. “Scott's a big boy,” I reminded Stiles, eyeing him as he paced the length of his bedroom floor, staring down at the phone in his pocket, willing it to light up with a text from his best friend.

“You're a big girl,” he reminded me snidely. “And you've still managed to nearly get yourself killed on multiple occasions in the six months I've known you.”

I wanted to argue the point, but the kid had a valid argument. “He's got Derek with him,” I said placatingly. “And Isaac, and – God help us all – Peter.”

“Yeah, but they probably split up to cover more ground,” he retorted, fingers tapping restlessly against his leg. Again, he made a good case.

“What do you wanna do?” I asked sarcastically, sitting straighter and crossing one leg over the other. “Take the Jeep out and drive into the forest on a full moon to try and find your best friend who may or _may not_ be in trouble with a pack of hungry werewolves?” He was silent, giving me all the answer I needed. “Holy shit, we're _not doing that_ , Stiles.”

He sagged, taking two large steps forwards to fix me with a pleading look. “Come _on_ ,” he whined, but I gave no other reply than a stony stare. He sighed, brushing the bridge of his nose with his thumb tiredly. Finally he collected himself, blinking down at me where I was lounged lazily on his bed with a serious expression. “You know I wouldn't do ask unless I had a good reason.”

“And your reason is?”

“I have a bad feeling.”

I wanted to debate his words, but I knew there was a validity to what he'd said that I couldn't ignore. If there was one thing that had become abundantly clear in my extremely long lifetime, it was that you should, above all else, trust your gut.

“Okay,” I finally nodded, and Stiles looked relieved. He knew he didn't need my permission to do anything, but he obviously felt better having it. I slid to my feet, striding over to where my old boots lay discarded in the corner.

“Um, what are you doing?”

I looked up at him like he was stupid. “I'm not going into the forest without shoes on,” I told him dubiously. “I'm a vampire, Stiles, not a barbarian.”

“What? No,” he huffed, sparing a moment to roll his eyes. “You're not coming with me.”

I looked up at him, eyebrow raised dangerously. “Excuse me?”

“It-it's a full moon,” he stammered, gesturing wildly to the window where I could see the silvery glow of the moon peeking passed the clouds.

“If you think I'm letting you go gallivanting through the forest while a pack of untamed and uncontrollable wolves are running loose, you're not as smart as I give you credit for,” I said with a stern glare.

“But Jules-”

“Either we both go or I'm going to take the battery out of your Jeep and throw it in a lake.”

He didn't seem very happy with my ultimatum, but grumbled his agreement nonetheless. I felt a flash of sympathy. I knew how much he worried about his friend. I was worried too. Scott was important to Stiles, and, to a lesser extent, me. I'd come to see the teen wolf as somewhat of a friend myself over the last few months, and if there was one thing I needed in life, it was probably more friends.

“I'll call Damon,” I told him softly, scooting to the edge of the bed and reaching down at grab my shoes, pulling them on slowly. “He said he'd be out tracking Klaus and the pack tonight. Maybe he knows something.”

“Good idea,” he murmured, patting his pockets, double checking he had his keys and phone before heading for the door. I trotted after him, appearing at his side as he began his trek down the stairs.

“ _Hello_?” the eldest Salvatore brother answered the phone with attitude, sounding irritated with me before I'd even spoken.

“Where's the pack?” I asked, hardly in the mood for pleasantries.

“ _You know, I have better things to do than keep an eye on those mongrels-_ ”

“Where?” I repeated, slipping into the passenger seat of the jeep, a burst of air hitting my face as Stiles turned on the AC.

“ _North-East,”_ he replied tightly. “ _About a five minute run from the edge of town._ ”

“Got it,” I nodded, then paused, watching distractedly as Stiles pulled out onto the main road. “Damon, is he-?”

“ _Last I knew Klaus was heading South_ ,” he told me, a gentle tone to his voice that wasn't there before. Maybe this Elena was a good influence on him, after all. “ _You won't run into him_.”

“Okay,” I replied simply, forgoing a thank you and mumbling a goodbye before hanging up, slipping the phone into my pocket. “Take a right up here, and continue onto Kinsmen road,” I told Stiles, pointing halfheartedly in the northern direction. He nodded, eyes scanning the shadows he couldn't see through, looking for any hint of his best friend. “We're heading into the thickest part of the forest…” I murmured, dismay twisting my insides together.

“Well they're not going to be spending the full moon at the bowling alley, are they?” Stiles retorted, and although it was meant to be biting, I couldn't hold back my smirk.

We were both quiet for a while, each searching the darkness for the pack. “Let me out up here,” I instructed him, reaching for the handle.

“What? No.”

“Stiles, I'll be faster on foot,” I argued logically, bending over to make sure my laces were properly tied.

“Remember what I said about having a bad feeling?” he asked anxiously.

I sighed, reaching across to wrap my fingers around his. “I'll be fine,” I assured him softly. He still didn't look convinced. “You're not going to find Scott from the car,” I told him what he already knew, and he glanced away from the road to meet my eyes briefly. “I have a better chance of helping him if I can track him, and I can't do that from here.” He didn't look like he wanted to listen. “You know I'm right.”

He was scowling as he pulled over onto the side of the road, the brakes squeaking as we rolled to a stop. “Call me every ten minutes, and also the _minute_ you find Scott, or, hell, even Derek.”

I didn't like the overprotectiveness, but I decided to let it slide for now. I leaned over the centre console, pressing my lips to his gently. He kissed me back, and I could feel his anxiety through our connected skin. “You'll see me soon,” I vowed with a soft smile as I pulled back.

Before he could comment further I slipped from the jeep, shoes hitting the dry dirt ground with a muted thud. “It'd better be in one piece when I do!” he called back.

I flashed him a wicked grin, teeth glistening menacingly in the glow of the full moon. He shot me a concerned look, but I paid him no heed, blowing him a cheeky kiss before letting the door swing shut, spinning around and disappearing into the shadows between the trees.

The stench of wet dog clung to everything, making it difficult to get ahold of where the source was. Eventually, as I stepped over logs and dodged low hanging branches, I came across a field that reeked so intensely of mutt that I felt the urge to dry-heave. I grimaced, keen eyes sweeping the darkness for any hint of danger, my senses in overdrive.

I needn't have worried; the whole area was clean, not a single puppy in sight. I exhaled, glancing up at the starry night sky and asking whoever might be listening for patience I didn't have naturally. I turned around, just about to head deeper to the North when an ear-splitting howl reverberated through the forest, shaking the leaves around me and making my ears ring.

I wasn't a wolf, so there was little I could do to determine who it was. The sound did have a sort of familiar tone about it though, and I knew instinctively that it was Scott. I darted into the tree line, vision cutting through shadows like they were nothing, running at full speed in the direction the pained howl had come from.

I was only running two minutes before I had to stop dead, very nearly smacking into another familiar face. “Derek?” I hissed, eyes narrowing as I took in his tired expression, reeking blood dripping from his nose.

The alpha shushed me, glaring through the dark. I glared right back, silently demanding him to tell me what exactly the fuck was going on. He pressed a single finger to his lips, shaking his head and looking pointedly at a spot far off in the distance.

Another howl cut through the night, and my attention snapped to the fire roaring a good dozen yards away, flickering in a small clearing. It took a moment to figure out what I was looking at, but eventually I realised I was seeing Scott, held to the ground, the paws of a giant wolf keeping him immobile.

I took off running, ignoring the way Derek grabbed at my arm, shaking him off and making a beeline for the clearing. I didn't realise my mistake until I'd tumbled out into the firelight, seven sets of glowing eyes looking up at me, drool dripping from their barred teeth, warning growls echoing through the space.

“Get out of here!” Scott yelled at me suddenly, but I ignored him too, swallowing thickly and ducking into a defensive crouch, barring my own set of fangs at them, sizing up my opponents.

Two of them were fully transformed, but the rest must have been young and weak, because they were all still half-human with sharp, ugly claws protruding from where their fingernails should have been. The biggest one looked like he'd be the toughest to take down, but I had speed on my side, and he was so large he was likely clumsy, giving me the advantage. His red eyes made it clear he was an alpha, but with a pack so big I didn't expect him to do all the fighting alone.

There was a shifty looking skinny one off to the side by a bush, she looked a hair away from going postal, but she couldn't possibly be any more reckless than I was, so I wasn't _too_ worried about her. The only other one who looked to be a problem was a large, dark skinned kid who reminded me of Boyd, but this guy was shorter, and had a glint in his amber eyes, it was almost hungry.

Overall, I could have taken any of them individually any day of the week. But all at once? Seven against one?

I didn't like those odds.

I knew I had to get Scott the hell out of there, and I wasn't a fan of the method I'd have to use to do it. But I didn't see any other way out. If there was one thing that caught a werewolf's attention on a full moon, it was a stray vampire.

“Hello, pups,” I said with a large grin, standing from my defensive position, forcing my shoulders to relax. The one standing on Scott's chest cocked its head, amber eyes glaring at me.

“What are you _doing_?” Scott growled desperately, staring up at me from the forest floor with wide, alarmed eyes.

My mischievous grin didn't falter, and I took an experimental step closer, seven wolves growling deep in their chests in response. “It's okay, Scott,” I told my friend calmly, eyes widening at the large alpha in silent challenge. “It's been awhile since I had a good run.”

“Jules,” he murmured with trepidation, flinching when the wolf holding him down snapped its jaws at him warningly.

“Here doggy, doggy,” I taunted with a sneer that probably appeared more confident than I felt. The alpha wolf looked back up at me, growling threateningly. I forced my lips into an impish grin, and it snarled.

I took an experimental step backwards, deliberately putting my weight on a stick, eyebrows raising as it cracked. I had a split second to act, I looked down, catching Scott's gaze, staring down at him, my voice laced with urgency.

“Run.”

Then I was the one running, a pack of hungry, angry, wild werewolves on my tail, teeth snapping together and claws extended out, desperately trying to sink into my skin. I was faster, I knew I would be; I always was. But I couldn't run forever.

My best bet was to keep them running until the moon set, then hopefully their lunacy driven haze would lift and they'd actually have some form of humanity returned to them. I breathed the warm summer air, ducking under a low branch then leaping over a large fallen tree. The wolves behind me wouldn't catch up any time soon, but the alpha looked like he was actually making some progress. I could hear him getting closer, and I realised he'd have to be extremely powerful to catch up to me.

I ran for a long time, changing directions and dodging trees in an effort to lose them. I came close to the edge of town at one point, not realising how near I was to civilisation until I heard a car horn honk. I took a sharp right, diving deeper into the forest, away from anywhere that a human could get caught in the crossfire.

Finally, just as the sun was peeking above the trees, the wolves chasing me began to drip away. One-by-one the sound of their footfalls on the soft earth began to stop, either they were tiring or they were getting bored. I couldn't blame them.

I was both.

I couldn't keep running, but a glance to the heavens told me the full moon still hung up above the clouds, looming steadily in the pretty pink sky. The glance away from my path turned out to be my downfall. With my eyes off my path, my foot caught on a large stone, my momentum propelling me across the small clearing.

I landed on the ground, my weight falling on my arm, which snapped under the pressure. I hissed, flipping onto my back, cradling my broken bone tenderly. The three mutts still on my tail were only a few seconds behind me, so with my good arm I reached out, grasping desperately at the dewey grass. My fingers curled around a thick stick, and I clutched at it, waiting until the wolves were on top of me before swinging it up and burying the sharp end of the wood in the half-human's side.

It howled in agony and unappetising blood spilled out over my hand. Trying to shelve the pain of my broken arm, I pushed myself to my feet, instantly snapping out my foot and slamming it into a fully transformed wolf's torso. It yelped, thrown off to the side and smashing loudly against a tree. Thankfully the remaining one was still on two legs, though its eyes were the glowing red and I knew it was the Goddamn alpha.

We stared at each other, waiting for the other to make a move as we listened to the wind whistle through the trees and his betas whimper miserably from behind us.

I knew the smart thing to do was keep my mouth shut, but I just couldn't help the tired smirk that spread across my lips. “Looking a little 'rough', pup,” I sneered with a shit-eating grin. “Need a time out?”

He growled, sharp features seeming to only deepen as he glared at me. He unceremoniously took off, running at me, leaving heavy footprints in the dirt. The mischievous smirk slipped from my face as my dead heart jumped into my throat. I crouched the second he swung, easily ducking the blow and landing one of my own to his torso.

The force I put behind the hit jolted my snapped bone, and a shockwave of pain echoed through me. My knees gave way, and my eyes watered, but I bit my tongue and forced myself back to my feet. But my distraction cost me, as I spun around his claws caught my shoulder, bumping my broken arm further. Most of my shirt went with his hand, ripping off my skin like it was nothing, leaving me in nothing but the tatters of what was once a decent piece of clothing, a group of gruesome gashes revealed running down my collarbone.

With a furious roar I slammed my foot into his junk. He grunted but seemed otherwise unaffected – probably a eunuch – stepping aside, making me over-swing with my next punch, sending my tripping. I hissed from my new position on the ground, swinging my leg out and taking his feet out from under him. He groaned as he hit the forest floor, but I knew I couldn't hang around and fight. I wouldn't be at the top of my game until my arm healed.

So I tried to do what I did best: run away.

I felt sluggish and heavy, and before I'd even stepped three feet from my opponent, his hand grasped at my leg, bringing me back down beside him. As I landed on my broken arm I yelped in pain but powered through, swinging around to glare defiantly at him.

All I saw was a flash of glowing red before there was a searing pain in my side. I threw my head back, an agonised scream ripping from my throat, an aching pain crawling up my chest and down my arms.

After a long moment that lasted entirely too long, he stopped. Not because he had a change of heart, but because Damon appeared out of nowhere and slammed his knee into the mutt's face, sending it collapsing back into the mud.

I gasped for air, but it felt like acid pouring into my lungs. I crumpled to the ground, head lulling back in pain.

I stared dazedly up at the slowly brightening sky, absentmindedly noticing how beautiful the splashes of pink, purple and peach were, only barely registering the searing pain in my side.

“Juliet?” a familiar voice asked, and my fuzzy vision slowly focusing on a worried looking Damon, crouching over me, blue eyes concerned. “It's going to be okay.”

“What?” I asked confusedly, the words feeling wrong in my mouth. What was the matter?

It was like I was experiencing everything from underwater, or like it was all from a dream. Damon's mouth continued to move, and I noticed a phone pressed to his ear. Who the hell would he be calling at this time of day?

After a long minute Damon hung up the phone, gently prodding the source of the agony and I felt a wave of nausea sweep up my throat.

“Up,” I demanded weakly, and, clearly knowing arguing would be pointless, he braced a hand behind my back, propping me into a half-sitting position. Taking a deep – and unnecessary – breath, I glanced down at the wound.

A large, gruesome bite mark was set into my otherwise perfect skin, blood trickling down my waist and onto my jeans. A sickening feeling of something like grief crawled through me, and my eyes watered. I'd promised Stiles; I'd promised and I'd let him down. Again.

I opened my mouth to speak, but stopped dead when I felt the familiar warmth of the healing process. I stared down, watching in shock as the wound began to close itself up.

“I thought-” I began, hope appearing in my tone and in my heart as I glanced up at the sky, where I could only just see the tip of the moon over the trees. “But you said-”

My hope was squashed instantly as Damon stared down at me with pity, a rare expression for the eldest Salvatore. “This is how it starts,” he told me quietly, pushing himself to his feet and holding out a hand to me. I took the help, allowing him to pull me upright. I winced as the gashes on my shoulder stung with the movement. In a show on uncharacteristic kindness, he ignored the way my bottom lip was trembling.

So this was it.

This was how I died.

“What happens next?” I asked shakily, clenching my jaw to stop it from quivering.

Shaking off the sympathy, his usual apathetic stare melted over his handsome face, appearing to all the world, careless. “It'll be a lot like a human flu,” he began, listing off the points on his fingers. “Then you'll hallucinate, and eventually you'll rabid. We'll have to put you down like a dog – awfully ironic, isn't it?”

I swallowed another mouthful of bile, feeling my fingers tremble. “How long?” I asked, glad he didn't bring up the way my voice cracked.

“It's different for everyone,” he shrugged. “Could be a day or two. Probably won't be any more than three.”

I breathed in, savouring the smell of the summer air. “And there's no cure?”

He hesitated. “Not one you'll like.”

Hope once again filled me. “I doubt there's anything I wouldn't do to save my own life.”

Damon's expression flickered, then he just said, “Klaus.”

And just like that, the hope was gone again. “Klaus?”

“More specifically, his blood.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“Not his exact location. And I have a feeling it would take longer than three days to find him.”

I sighed, pressing my fingertips to my temples. “Even if we could find him, I doubt he'd help me,” I told him. I heard the familiar hum of an engine in the distance, and my heart dropped into my stomach. I bit my lip, ignoring the way my eyes began to water.

“What are you going to tell him?” Damon asked, clearly referring to the kid less than a mile away, on a path directly to us.

“That I need to leave,” I choked, sniffling lightly and staring resolutely up at the soft colours of the sunrise. “That I won't be coming back.”

My old friend shook his head, but I couldn't find it in me to look away from the sky. “That's the wrong decision.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, I made the same mistake; I didn't tell the person that I… _care_ about that I had the bite until the last few hours,” he told me quietly as I listened to Stiles' jeep edge closer to our location.

“If I'm going to take relationship advice from anyone, it's not going to be Damon 'I can only fall in love with people my brother loves first' Salvatore.”

He looked affronted. “Well at least your sense of humour's still intact,” he muttered bitterly. “And I'll have you know that _I_ met Elena _first_.”

“Very mature,” I scoffed. Headlights flashed into the small clearing, and the jeep rolled out from the shadows, a stressed looking Stiles inside.

“Even though it's probably a lost cause, I'm going to see if I can't pull a few strings to get an audience with _'his majesty',_ ” Damon sneered as Stiles parked haphazardly in the dirt, bursting from the driver's seat and tripping over himself in his haste. “Call me if you're still alive in twenty-four hours.”

Without further fanfare he slipped into the shadows, disappearing as Stiles stumbled towards me, squinting through the cool morning mist.

“You're okay?” he asked as he came to a clumsy stop in front of me, fingers curling around my arms as he looked me up and down, assessing the damage. He eyed the bloody claw marks on my collarbone, turning a little green at the visible bone, but otherwise he seemed satisfied that I was alive. “Damon said you'd been hurt.”

“Flesh wounds,” I waved his concern off. He exhaled in obvious relief, shoulders sagging like a weight had been lifted. His finally noticed the wolf bleeding out to our left, and the unconscious one on our other side. “Come on,” I prompted, threading our fingers together and bringing his attention back to me. “You haven't slept in days.”

With a reluctant sigh he nodded, eyeing the bodies one more time before allowing me to gently tug him back to the Jeep.

He was quiet as we began to lengthy trip back through the forest, heading onto the main road. I couldn't take the silence. These were probably my last minutes with Stiles, I wasn't going to waste them in silence. “Talk to me,” I begged him.

“Scott and the others are safe,” he told me once we were on the road, one hand tangled with mine, the other resting lazily on the wheel. “They're wounded, but they'll heal quickly.”

“Not about that,” I shook my head, capturing his hand in both of mine, bringing it to my lips so I could gently brush his knuckles. “About something else. _Anything_ else.”

He thought for a moment, alternating between staring at me and the road. Finally he spoke, and once he started, it was like he couldn't stop. He so often seemed to only want to talk about me; said I was more interesting than he could ever hope to be. I disagreed, of course, but if he enjoyed hearing about me then who was I to deny him?

Now, it was nice to hear him ramble on about himself for a change. He told me about how his favourite time of day had always been the sunrise, but that he rarely ever woke up early enough to see it. He told me about his David Bowie obsession growing up, and how the only movie he would watch when he was 8 had been _Labyrinth_. He laughed as he admitted he knew all the words to every _Blink-182_ song, and how though he loved _Green Day_ , they'd never really compare.

He mumbled about how his favourite story to be read at bedtime had been _Pinocchio,_ and how he thought that was how he'd come to be so good at lying, and how he'd always secretly thought of Scott as his own personal _Jiminy Cricket_.

He smirked while telling me that his favourite show was something called _Criminal Minds_ , and promised me I'd love it, vowing that he'd bring the first season over the next day so we could watch it. I felt a pang in the spot where my heart should have been, and I winced, hating that he was making plans he didn't know would never come to pass.

Finally, after a time that was too short, he pulled up outside my house, turning off the ignition and peering across at me in the early morning sunlight.

“You should go home, get some sleep,” I told him gently, forcing myself to sound normal. He could never know it was a goodbye.

“I can't sleep here?”

“I need a long bubble bath and a pint of blood,” I told him, only half lying. I honestly _was_ doing those things, but under normal circumstances I would have wanted him to stay. “You need some rest.”

I leaned over the console, pressing my lips to his cheek. I stayed there for a moment longer than usual, enjoying the feeling of his two-day old stubble against my lips.

Finally I pulled away, shooting him a pained but gentle smile. “I'll probably pull a cliché and sleep all day,” I lied, wincing as I fought the sudden and foreign urge to cough. “I'll call you in a day or so and we can have that marathon.”

“Sounds perfect,” he smiled tiredly.

I wanted to say more, the words were on the tip of my tongue. They wouldn't have been a lie, they would have been the most honest thing I'd said in 200 years, but I knew now wasn't the right time. I wondered if there would _ever_ be a right time.

Probably not.

“I tolerate you,” I ultimately said, and the words didn't even feel inadequate.

Instead of smiling or rolling his eyes like I thought he would, he merely frowned at me, the worry not quite leaving his gaze. “I tolerate you,” he said despite the look of concern on his face.

It was good enough for me. I shot him a final smile, cracking open the door and slipping from the car. Once it was shut behind me, I couldn't stop myself from coughing into my hand as I wandered up to my front door. As I turned the handle – having left it unlocked – I glanced down at my hand. In my palm were a few stray droplets of ruby red blood.

I glanced over my shoulder at Stiles, who was still watching me with concern.

“Bye, Stiles,” I whispered, even though I knew he wouldn't hear, slipping into the dark solace of my home and letting the door slam shut behind me.


End file.
